CAPTAIN  MARGARET 


UNIT.  OF  CALIF.  TJRTURY.  T,OS  ANGELE9 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  •    BOSTON  •   CHICAGO  •   DALLAS 
ATLANTA  •    SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON  •    BOMBAY  •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Lm 

TORONTO 


CAPTAIN   MARGARET 


BY 
JOHN  MASEFIELD 

Author  of  "The  Everlasting  Mercy,"  "The  Widow 
in  the  Bye  Street,"  etc. 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

1916 
All  rightt  reserve^ 


TO 

MY     WIFE 


2131576 


CONTENTS 

I.    THE  "BROKEN  HEART" ,*      3 

II.    A  FAREWELL 27 

III.  OUTWARDS 48 

IV.  A  CABIN  COUNCIL 80 

V.     STUKELEY 108 

VI.    A  SUPPER  PARTY 129 

VII.    THE  TOBACCO  MERCHANT 163 

VIII.    IN  PORT 194 

IX.    A  FAREWELL  DINNER 216 

X.    THE  LANDFALL 250 

XI.    THE  FLAG  OF  TRUCE 278 

XII.  THE  END                                                           311 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

i 

THE    "  BROKEN    HEART  " 

"  All  this  the  world  well  knows ;  yet  none  knows  well 
To  shun  the  heaven  that  leads  men  to  this  hell." 

THE  short  summer  night  was  over;  the  stars 
were  paling;  there  was  a  faint  light  above  the 
hills.  The  flame  in  the  ship's  lantern  felt  the 
day  beginning.  A  cock  in  the  hen-coop  crowed,  flapping 
his  wings.  The  hour  was  full  of  mystery.  Though  it 
was  still,  it  was  full  of  the  suggestion  of  noise.  There 
was  a  rustle,  a  murmur,  a  sense  of  preparation.  Al- 
ready, in  the  farms  ashore,  the  pails  went  clanking  to 
the  byres.  Very  faintly,  from  time  to  time,  one  heard 
the  lowing  of  a  cow,  or  the  song  of  some  fisherman,  as 
he  put  out,  in  the  twilight,  to  his  lobster-pots,  sculling 
with  one  oar. 

Dew  had  fallen  during  the  night.  The  decks  of  the 
Broken  Heart,  lying  at  anchor  there,  with  the  lantern 
burning  at  her  peak,  were  wet  with  dew.  Dew  dripped 
from  her  running  rigging;  the  gleam  of  wetness  was 
upon  her  guns,  upon  her  rails,  upon  the  bell  in  the  poop 
belfry.  She  seemed  august,  lying  there  in  the  twilight. 
Her  sailors,  asleep  on  her  deck,  in  the  shadow,  below 
the  break  of  the  quarter-deck,  were  unlike  earthly 
sleepers.  The  old  boatswain,  in  the  blue  boat-cloak, 
standing  at  the  gangway  watching  the  dawn,  was  august, 

3 


4  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

sphinx-like,  symbolic.  The  two  men  who  stood  above 
him  on  the  quarter-deck  spoke  quietly,  in  hushed  voices, 
as  though  the  hour  awed  them.  Even  the  boy  by  the 
lantern,  far  aft,  stood  silently,  moved  by  the  beauty  of 
the  time.  Over  the  water,  by  Salcombe,  the  fishers' 
boats  got  under  way  for  the  sea.  The  noise  of  the 
halliards  creaked,  voices  called  in  the  dusk,  blocks  piped, 
coils  of  rope  rattled  on  the  planks.  The  flower  of  the 
day  was  slowly  opening  in  the  east,  the  rose  of  the  day 
was  bursting.  It  was  the  dim  time,  the  holy  time,  the 
moment  of  beauty,  which  would  soon  pass,  was  even  now 
passing,  as  the  sea  gleamed,  brightening,  lighting  up  into 
colour. 

Slowly  the  light  grew:  it  came  in  rosy  colour  upon 
the  ship;  it  burned  like  a  flame  upon  the  spire-top. 
The  fishers  in  their  boats,  moving  over  the  talking  water, 
watched  the  fabric  as  they  passed.  She  loomed  large 
in  the  growing  light ;  she  caught  the  light  and  gleamed ; 
the  tide  went  by  her  with  a  gurgle.  The  dim  light  made 
her  larger  than  she  was,  it  gave  her  the  beauty  of  all 
half-seen  things.  The  dim  light  was  like  the  veil  upon 
a  woman's  face.  She  was  a  small  ship  (only  five  hun- 
dred tons),  built  of  aromatic  cedar,  and  like  all  wooden 
ships  she  would  have  looked  ungainly,  had  not  her  great 
beam,  and  the  height  of  her  after-works,  given  her  a 
majesty,  something  of  the  royal  look  which  all  ships  have 
in  some  proportion.  The  virtue  of  man  had  been  busy 
about  her.  An  artist's  heart,  hungry  for  beauty,  had 
seen  the  idea  of  her  in  dream ;  she  had  her  counterpart 
in  the  kingdom  of  vision.  There  was  8,  spirit  in  her, 
as  there  is  in  all  things  fashioned  by  the  soul  of  man ; 
riot  a  spirit  of  beauty,  not  a  spirit  of  strength,  but  the 
spirit  of  her  builder,  a  Peruvian  Spaniard.  She  had  the 
impress  of  her  builder  in  her,  a  mournful  state,  a  kind 
'•  f  littered  grandeur,  a  likeness  to  a  type  of  manhood. 


THE  " BROKEN  HEAET '  5 

There  was  in  her  a  beauty  not  quite  achieved,  as  though, 
in  the  husk  of  the  man,  the  butterfly's  wings  were  not 
quite  free.  There  was  in  her  a  strength  that  was 
clumsy ;  almost  the  strength  of  one  vehement  from  fear. 
She  came  from  a  man's  soul,  stamped  with  his  defects. 
Standing  on  her  deck,  one  could  see  the  man  laid  bare  — 
melancholy,  noble,  and  wanting  —  till  one  felt  pity  for 
the  ship  which  carried  his  image  about  the  world.  Sea- 
men had  lived  in  her,  seamen  had  died  in  her ;  she  had 
housed  many  wandering  spirits.  She  was,  in  herself, 
the  house  of  her  maker's  spirit,  as  all  made  things  are, 
and  wherever  her  sad  beauty  voyaged,  his  image,  his 
living  memory  voyaged,  infinitely  mournful,  because  im- 
perfect, unapprehended.  Some  of  those  who  had  sailed 
in  her  had  noticed  that  the  caryatides  of  the  rails,  the 
caryatides  of  the  quarter-gallery,  and  the  figurehead 
which  watched  over  the  sea,  were  all  carven  portraits 
of  the  one  woman.  But  of  those  who  noticed,  none  knew 
that  they  touched  the  bloody  heart  of  a  man,  that  before 
them  was  the  builder's  secret,  the  key  to  his  soul.  The 
men  who  sailed  in  the  Broken  Heart  were  not  given  to 
thoughts  about  her  builder.  When  they  lay  in  port, 
among  all  the  ships  of  the  world,  among  the  flags  and 
clamour,  they  took  no  thought  of  beauty.  They  would 
have  laughed  had  a  man  told  them  that  all  that  array 
of  ships,  so  proud,  so  beautiful,  came  from  the  brain  of 
man  because  a  woman's  lips  were  red.  It  is  a  proud 
thing  to  be  a  man,  and  to  feel  the  stir  of  beauty ;  but  it 
is  more  wonderful  to  be  a  woman,  and  to  have,  or  to  be, 
the  touch  calling  beauty  into  life. 

She  had  been  a  week  in  coming  from  the  Pool  to  the 
Start.  In  the  week  her  crew  had  settled  down  from 
their  last  drunkenness.  The  smuts  had  been  washed 
from  the  fife-rails;  the  ropes  upon  the  pins  had  lost 
the  London  grime  from  the  lay  of  the  strands.  Now, 


6  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

as  the  sun  rose  behind  the  combes,  flooding  the  land 
with  light,  smiting  the  water  with  gold,  the  boy,  stand- 
ing far  aft,  ran  up  her  colours,  and  the  boatswain,  in  his 
blue  boat-cloak,  bending  forward  slightly,  blowing  his 
smouldering  match,  fired  the  sunrise  gun,  raising  his 
linstock  in  salute.  The  sleepers  stirred  among  their 
blankets;  one  or  two,  fully  wakened,  raised  themselves 
upon  their  elbows.  A  block  creaked  as  the  peak  lantern 
was  hauled  down.  Then  with  a  shrill  wail  the  pipe 
sounded  the  long  double  call,  slowly  heightening  to 
piercing  sharpness,  which  bids  all  hands  arise. 

The  sunshine,  now  brilliant  everywhere,  showed  that 
the  Broken  Heart  was  "  by  the  head,"  like  most  of  the 
ships  of  her  century.  Her  lines  led  downwards,  in  a 
sweep,  from  the  lantern  on  the  taffrail  to  the  bowed, 
inclining  figurehead.  A  wooden  frame  thrust  outward 
over  the  sea;  the  cutwater  swept  up  to  meet  it;  at  the 
outer  end,  under  the  bowsprit,  the  figurehead  gleamed 
—  the  white  body  of  a  woman,  the  breasts  bared,  the 
eyes  abased,  the  hands  clasped,  as  in  prayer,  below  the 
breasts.  Beyond  the  cutwater,  looking  aft,  were  the 
bluff  bows,  swollen  outwards,  rising  to  the  square  wall 
of  the  forecastle,  from  which  the  catheads  thrust.  The 
chains  of  the  fore-rigging,  black  with  deadeyes  and 
thickly  tarred  matting,  stood  out  against  the  dingy  yel- 
low of  the  paint.  Further  aft  was  the  gangway,  with 
its  nailed  cleats;  then  the  main-chains,  and  the  rising 
of  the  cambered  side  for  poop  and  quarterdeck.  Ear 
aft  was  the  outward  bulge  of  the  coach,  heavy  with  gold 
leaf,  crowned  by  the  three  stern  lanterns.  The  painters 
had  been  busy  about  her  after-works.  The  blue  paint 
among  the  gilding  was  bright  wherever  the  twisted  loves 
and  leaves  left  space  for  it.  Standing  at  the  taffrail  and 
looking  forward,  one  could  see  all  over  her;  one  could 
command  her  length,  the  rows  of  guns  upon  her  main 


THE  "BROKEN  HEART''  7 

deck,  the  masts  standing  up  so  stately,  the  forecastle 
bulkhead,  the  hammock  nettings,  the  bitts  and  poop- 
rails  with  their  carvings,  each  stanchion  a  caryatid,  the 
square  main-hatch  with  its  shot  rack,  the  scuttle-butt 
ringed  with  bright  brass,  the  boats  on  the  booms  amid- 
ships, the  booms  themselves,  the  broken  heart  painted 
in  scarlet  on  their  heels. 

The  two  men  on  the  poop  turned  as  the  boatswain 
piped.  They  turned  to  walk  aft,  on  the  weather  side, 
along  the  wet  planks,  so  trimly  parquetted.  They 
walked  quietly,  the  one  from  a  natural  timidity,  the 
other  from  custom,  following  the  old  tradition  of  the 
sea,  which  bids  all  men  respect  the  sleeper.  The  timid 
one,  never  a  great  talker,  spoke  little;  but  his  wander- 
ing eyes  were  busy  taking  in  the  view,  noting  all  things, 
even  when  his  fellow  thought  him  least  alive.  He  was 
the  friend  of  Captain  Margaret,  the  ship's  owner.  His 
name  was  Edward  Perrin.  He  was  not  yet  thirty-five, 
but  wild  living  had  aged  him,  and  his  hair  was  fast  turn- 
ing grey.  He  was  wrinkled,  and  his  drawn  face  and 
drooping  carriage  told  of  a  sapped  vitality,  hardly  worth 
the  doctoring.  It  was  only  now  and  then,  when  the 
eyes  lifted  and  the  face  flushed  with  animation,  that  the 
soul  showed  that  it  still  lived  within,  driving  the  body 
(all  broken  as  it  was)  as  furiously  as  it  had  ever  driven. 
He  suffered  much  from  ill-health,  for  he  was  ever  care- 
less ;  and  when  he  was  ill,  his  feeble  brains  were  numbed, 
so  that  he  talked  with  difficulty.  When  he  was  well  he 
had  brilliant  but  exhausting  flashes,  touches  of  genius, 
sallies  of  gaiety,  of  tenderness,  which  gave  him  singular 
charm,  not  abiding,  but  enough  to  win  him  the  friends 
whom  he  irritated  when  ill-health  returned.  In  his 
youth  he  had  run  through  his  little  fortune  in  evil  living. 
Now  that  he  was  too  weak  for  further  folly,  he  lived 
upon  a  small  pittance  which  he  had  been  unable  to 


8  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

spend  owing  to  the  forethought  of  a  bequeathing  aunt. 
He  had  only  two  interests  in  life:  Captain  Margaret, 
whom  he  worshipped  with  touching  loyalty;  and  the 
memories  of  his  wild  youth,  so  soon  spoiled,  so  soon 
ended.  Among  those  memories  was  the  memory  of  a 
woman  who  had  once  refused  his  offer  of  marriage.  He 
had  not  loved  the  woman,  for  he  was  incapable  of  love ; 
he  was  only  capable  of  affection;  but  the  memory  of 
this  woman  was  sweet  to  him  because  she  seemed  to 
give  some  note  of  splendour,  almost  of  honour,  to  his 
vicious  courses. 

He  felt,  poor  wastrel,  poor  burnt  moth,  that  his  life 
had  touched  romance,  that  it  was  a  part  of  all  high 
beauty,  that  some  little  tongue  of  flame  had  sealed  him. 
He  had  loved  unavailingly,  he  thought,  but  with  all  the 
lovely  part  of  him.  Now  that  he  was  broken  by  excess 
he  felt  like  the  king  in  the  tale,  who,  wanting  one  thing, 
had  given  up  all  things,  that  the  grass  might  be  the 
sooner  over  him.  Vice  and  poverty  had  given  him  a 
wide  knowledge  of  life ;  but  of  life  in  its  hardness  and 
cynicism,  stripped  of  its  flowers,  His  one  fond  mem- 
ory, his  one  hopeless  passion,  as  he  called  it,  the  one 
time  in  his  life  when  he  had  lived  emotionally,  had 
given  him,  strangely  enough,  an  odd  understanding  of 
women,  which  made  him  sympathetic  to  them.  His 
ill-health  gave  him  a  distaste  for  life,  particularly  -for 
society.  He  avoided  people,  and  sought  for  individ- 
uals ;  he  hated  men,  and  loved  his  master ;  he  despised 
women,  in  spite  of  his  memory  of  a  woman;  but  he 
found  individual'  women  more  attractive  than  they 
would  have  liked  to  think.  Intellectually,  he  was 
nothing ;  for  he  had  never  grown  up ;  he  had  never  come 
to  manhood.  As  a  boy  he  had  had  the  vices  of  a  man ; 
as  a  man  he  had,  in  consequence,  the  defects  of  a  woman. 
He  was  a  broken,  emotional  creature,  attractive  and 


THE  " BROKEN  HEART "  9 

pathetic,  the  stick  of  a  rocket  which  had  blazed  across 
heaven.  He  was  at  once  empty  and  full  of  tenderness, 
cruel  and  full  of  sympathy,  capable  of  rising,  on  his 
feelings,  to  heroic  self -sacrifice ;  but  likely,  perhaps  on 
the  same  day,  to  sink  to  depths  of  baseness.  He  was 
tall  and  weedy-looking,  very  wretched  and  haggard. 
He  delighted  in  brilliant  clothes,  and  spent  much  of  his 
little  store  in  mercers'  shops.  He  wore  a  suit  of  dark 
blue  silk,  heavily  laced  at  the  throat  and  wrists.  The 
sleeves  of  his  coat  were  slashed,  so  as  to  show  a  bright 
green  satin  lining ;  for,  like  most  vicious  men,  he  loved 
the  colour  green,  and  delighted  in  green  clothes.  He 
drooped  forward  as  he  walked,  with  his  head  a  little  on 
one  side.  His  clumsy,  ineffectual  hands  hung  limply 
from  thin  wrists  in  front  of  him.  But  always,  as  he 
walked,  the  tired  brain,  too  tired  to  give  out,  took  in 
unceasingly,  behind  the  mask  of  the  face.  He  had  little 
memory  for  events,  for  words  spoken  to  him,  for  the 
characters  of  those  he  met ;  but  he  had  instead  a  memory 
for  places  which  troubled  his  peace,  it  was  so  perfect. 
As  he  walked  softly  up  and  down  the  poop  with  Captain 
Cammock  that  lovely  morning,  he  took  into  his  brain  a 
memory  of  Salcombe  harbour,  so  quiet  below  its  combes, 
which  lasted  till  he  died.  Often  afterwards,  when  he 
was  in  the  strange  places  of  the  world,  the  memory  of 
the  ships  came  back  to  him,  he  heard  the  murmur  of  the 
tide,  the  noise  of  the  gulls  quarrelling,  the  crying  out  of 
sailors  at  work.  A  dog  on  one  combe  chased  an  old 
sheep  to  the  hedge  above  the  beach  of  the  estuary. 

"  I  am  like  that  sheep/'  thought  Perrin,  not  unjustly, 
"  and  the  hound  of  desire  drives  me  where  it  will." 
He  did  not  mention  his  thought  to  Captain  Cammock, 
for  he  had  that  fear  of  being  laughed  at  which  is  only 
strong  in  those  who  know  that  they  are  objects  of  mirth 
to  others. 


10  CAPTAIN  MAEGAEET 

"  I'll  soon  show  you,"  he  cried  aloud,  continuing  his 
thought  to  a  rupture  with  an  imaginary  mocker. 

"  What'll  you  show  me  ?  "  said  Captain  Cammock. 

"  Nothing.  Nothing,"  said  Perrin  hastily.  He 
blushed  and  turned  to  look  at  the  town,  so  that  the  cap- 
tain should  not  see  his  face. 

Captain  Cammock  was  a  large,  surly-looking  man, 
with  long  black  hair  which  fell  over  his  shoulders.  His 
face,  ruddy  originally,  was  of  a  deep  copper  colour; 
handsome  enough,  in  spite  of  the  surly  look,  which,  at 
first  glance,  passed  for  sternness.  There  were  crow's- 
feet  at  the  corners  of  his  eyes,  from  long  gazing  through 
heat  haze  and  to  windward.  He  wore  heavy  gold  ear- 
rings, of  a  strange  pattern,  in  his  ears;  and  they  be- 
came him;  though  nothing  angered  him  more  than  to 
be  told  so.  "  I  wear  them  for  my  sight,"  he  would  say. 
"  I  ain't  no  town  pimp,  like  you."  The  rest  of  his  gear 
was  also  strange  and  rich,  down  to  the  stockings  and 
the  buckled  shoes,  not  because  he  was  a  town  pimp  like 
others,  but  because,  in  his  last  voyage,  he  had  made  free 
with  the  wardrobe  of  the  Governor  of  Valdivia.  A 
jewel  of  gold,  acquired  at  the  same  time,  clasped  at  his 
throat  a  piece  of  scarlet  stuff,  richly  embroidered,  which, 
covering  his  chest,  might  have  been  anything,  from  a 
shirt  to  a  handkerchief.  The  Spanish  lady  who  had 
once  worn  it  as  a  petticoat  would  have  said  that  it  be- 
came him.  His  answer  to  the  Spanish  lady  would  have 
been,  "  Well,  I  ain't  one  of  your  dressy  ducks ;  but  I 
have  my  points."  Those  who  had  seen  him  in  ragged 
linen  drawers,  pulling  a  canoa  off  the  Main,  between 
Tolu  and  the  Headlands,  with  his  chest,  and  bare  arms, 
and  naked  knees,  all  smeared  with  fat,  to  keep  away  the 
mosquitoes,  would  have  agreed  with  him. 

"  There's  one  thing  I  wish  you'd  show  me,"  said 
Captain  Cammock,  glancing  at  the  schooners  at  anchor. 


THE  "  BROKEN  HEART "  11 

"  What's  that  ?  "  said  Perrin. 

"  Well,"  said  Captain  Cammock,  turning  towards  the 
harbour  entrance,  "  why  has  Captain  Margaret  put  into 
Salcombe?  Wasting  a  fair  wind  I  call  it.  We  could 
a-drove  her  out  of  soundings  if  we'd  held  our  course." 

"  I  don't  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  that,  Captain 
Cammock.  I  know,  of  course.  It  has  to  do  with  the 
whole  cruise.  Personal  reasons." 

Captain  Cammock  snorted. 

"  A  lop-eared  job  the  cruise  is,  if  you  ask  me,"  he 
growled. 

"  I  thought  you  approved  of  it." 

"  I'll  approve  of  it  when  we're  safe  home  again,  and 
the  ship's  accounts  passed.  Now,  Mr.  Perrin,  I'm  a 
man  of  peace,  I  am.  I  don't  uphold  going  in  for 
trouble.  There's  trouble  enough  on  all  men's  tallies. 
But  what  you're  going  to  do  beats  me." 

Perrin  murmured  a  mild  assent.  The  pirate's  vehe- 
mence generally  frightened  him. 

"  Look  here,  now,  Mr.  Perrin,"  the  captain  went  on. 
"  One  gentleman  to  another,  now.  Here  am  I  sailing- 
master.  I'm  to  navigate  this  ship  to  Virginia,  and  then 
to  another  port  to  be  named  when  we  leave  England. 
I  don't  know  what  you  want  me  to  do,  do  I,  James? 
Well,  then,  can't  you  give  me  a  quiet  hint,  like,  so  I'll 
know  when  to  shoot?  If  you  don't  like  that,  well, 
you're  my  employers,  you  needn't.  But  don't  blame 
me  if  trouble  comes.  You're  going  to  the  Main.  Oh, 
don't  start ;  I've  got  eyes,  sir.  Now  I  know  the  Main ; 
you  don't.  Nor  you  dorft  know  seamen.  All  you  know 
is  a  lot  of  town  pimps  skipping  around  like  burnt  cats. 
Here  now,  Mr.  Perrin,  fair  and  square.  Are  you  going 
on  the  account  ?  " 

"  As  pirates  ?  " 

"  As  privateers." 


12  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  Well,  you  see,  captain,"  said  Perrin,  "  it's  like  this. 
Captain  Margaret.  I  don't  know.  You  know  that,  in 
Darien,  the  Spaniards  —  they  —  they  —  they  drove  out 
the  Indians  very  brutally." 

Captain  Cammock  smiled,  as  though  pleased  with  a 
distant  memory. 

"  Oh,  them,"  he  said  lightly. 

"  Well,"  continued  Perrin.  "  You'd  have  been  told 
to-day,  anyhow;  so  it  doesn't  much  matter  my  telling 
you  now.  What  he  wants  to  do  is  this.  He  wants  to 
get  in  with  the  Indians  there,  and  open  up  a  trade; 
keeping  back  the  Spaniards  till  the  English  are  thor- 
oughly settled.  Then,  when  we  are  strong  enough,  to 
cut  in  on  the  Spanish  treasure-trains,  like  Sir  Francis 
Drake  did.  But  first  of  all,  our  aim  is  to  open  up  a 
trade.  Gold  dust." 

Captain  Cammock's  face  grew  serious.  He  gazed, 
with  unseeing  eyes,  at  the  swans  in  the  reach. 

"  Oh,"  he  said.     "  What  give  you  that  idea  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  it  possible  ?  " 

"  I'll  think  it  over,"  he  said  curtly.  "  I'm  obliged  to 
you  for  telling  me."  He  made  one  or  two  quick  turns 
about  the  deck.  "  Here  you,  boy,"  he  cried,  "  coil  them 
ropes  up  on  the  pins."  He  glanced  down  at  the  quarter- 
deck guns  to  see  if  the  leaden  aprons  were  secured  over 
the  touch-holes.  "  Mr.  Perrin,"  he  continued,  "  about 
Captain  Margaret.  Has  he  got  anything  on  his  mind  ?  " 

"  Yes,  captain.  He's  had  a  lot  of  trouble.  A 
woman." 

"  I  thought  it  was  something  of  that  sort.  Rum  or 
women,  I  say.  Them  and  lawyers.  They  get  us  all 
into  trouble  sooner  or  later." 

"  He  was  in  love  w"ith  a  girl,"  said  Perrin.  "  He 
was  in  love  with  her  for  four  years.  Now  she's  gone 
and  married  some  one  else." 


THE  "  BROKEN  HEART  "  13 

"  I  suppose  she  was  a  society  lady,"  said  Cammock, 
investing  that  class  with  the  idea  of  vices  practised  by 
his  own. 

"  She  was  very  beautiful,"  said  Perrin. 

"  And  now  she's  married,"  said  Cammock. 

"  Yes.     Married  a  blackguard." 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  the  captain.  "  And  now  she'll  learn 
her  error.  Women  aren't  rational  beings,  not  like  men 
are.  What  would  a  beautiful  woman  want  more,  with 
Captain  Margaret  ? " 

"  It's  about  done  for  him,"  said  Perrin.  "  He'll 
never  be  the  man  he  was.  And  as  for  her.  The  man 
she  married  cheated  a  lad  out  of  all  his  money  at  cards, 
and  then  shot  him  in  a  duel." 

"  I've  heard  of  that  being  done,"  said  the  captain. 

"  Oh,  but  he  did  a  worse  thing  than  that,"  said 
Perrin.  "  He'd  a  child  by  his  cousin ;  and  when  the 
girl's  mother  turned  her  out  of  doors,  he  told  her  she 
might  apply  to  the  parish." 

"  Bah !  "  said  the  captain,  with  disgust.  "  I'd  like 
to  know  the  name  of  that  duck.  He's  a  masterpiece." 

"  Tom  Stukeley,  his  name  is,"  said  Perrin.  "  His 
wife's  Olivia  Stukeley.  They  are  stopping  in  Salcombe 
here.  They  are  still  wandering  about  on  their  honey- 
moon. They  were  married  two  or  three  months  back." 

"  Ah,"  said  Cammock,  "  so  that's  why  the  captain 
put  in  here.  He'll  be  going  ashore,  I  reckon."  He 
walked  to  the  break  of  the  poop  and  blew  his  whistle. 
"  Bosun,"  he  cried.  "  Get  the  dinghy  over  the  side,  'n 
clean  her  out."  He  walked  back  to  Perrin.  "  Much 
better  get  him  away  to  sea,  sir.  No  good'll  come  of  it." 

"  What  makes  you  think  that  ?  "  said  Perrin. 

"  He'll  only  see  her  with  this  Stukeley  fellow.  It'll 
only  make  him  sick.  Very  likely  make  her  sick, 
too." 


14 

"  I  can't  stop  him/'  said  Perrin.  "  He'll  eat  his 
heart  out  if  he  doesn't  go.  It's  better  for  him  to  go, 
and  get  a  real  sickener,  than  to  stay  away  and  brood. 
Don't  you  think  that  ?  " 

"  As  you  please,"  said  Cammock.  "  But  he  ain't 
going  to  do  much  on  the  Main,  if  he's  going  to  worry 
all  the  time  about  a  young  lady.  The  crowd  you  get 
on  the  Main  don't  break  their  hearts  about  ladies,  not 
as  a  general  act." 

"  No  ?  "  said  Perrin. 

The  conversation  lapsed.  The  captain  walked  to  the 
poop-rail,  to  watch  the  men  cleaning  up  the  main-deck. 
He  called  a  boy,  to  clean  the  brass-work  on  the  poop. 

"  Not  much  of  that  on  the  Main,  sir,  you  won't  have," 
he  said. 

"  No  ?  "  said  Perrin. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  captain.  "  On  the  Main,  you 
lays  your  ship  on  her  side  on  the  softest  mud  anywheres 
handy.  And  you  gets  Indian  ducks  to  build  little 
houses  for  you.  Fine  little  houses.  And  there  you 
lays  ashore,  nine  months  of  the  year,  listening  to  the 
rain.  Swish.  Your  skin  gets  all  soft  on  you,  like 
wet  paper.  And  you'll  see  the  cabin  below  here,  all 
full  of  great  yellow  funguses.  And  all  this  brass  will 
be  as  green  as  tulips.  It  will.  And  if  you  don't  watch 
out,  you  could  grow  them  pink  water-lilies  all  over  her. 
It's  happy  days  when  you've  a  kind  of  a  pine-apple 
tree  sprouting  through  your  bunk-boards."  He  paused 
a  moment,  noted  the  effect  on  Perrin,  and  resolved  to  try 
an  even  finer  effort.  "  I  remember  a  new  Jamaica 
sloop  as  come  to  One  Bush  Key  once.  I  was  logwood- 
cutting  in  them  times.  She  was  one  of  these  pine-built 
things ;  she  come  from  Negrill.  They  laid  her  on  her 
side  in  the  lagoon,  while  the  hands  was  cutting  logwood. 
And  you  know,  sir,  she  sprouted.  The  ground  was  that 


THE  "BKOKEN  HEART*  15 

rich  she  sprouted.  Them  planks  took  root.  She  was 
a  tidy  little  clump  of  pines  before  I  left  the  trade." 

"  Eight  bells,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  touching  his  cap. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Cammock.  "  Make  it.  Who's 
watchman,  bosun?  Let  him  call  me  at  once  if  any 
boat  comes  off." 

"  Ay,  ay,  Captain  Cammock,"  said  the  boatswain. 

The  steward,  an  old  negro,  dressed  in  the  worn  red 
uniform  of  a  foot-soldier,  came  with  his  bell  to  the  break 
of  the  poop,  to  announce  the  cabin  breakfast.  The 
men,  with  their  feet  bare  from  washing  down,  were 
passing  forward  to  the  forecastle.  Their  shirts,  of  red, 
and  blue,  and  green,  were  as  gay  as  flags.  The  wet 
decks  gleamed;  the  banner  blew  out  bravely  from  the 
peak.  As  the  bell  struck  its  four  couplets,  the  bosun 
ran  up  to  the  main-truck  the  house-flag,  of  Captain 
Margaret's  arms,  upon  a  ground  of  white.  The  watch- 
man, in  his  best  clothes,  passed  aft  rapidly  to  the  gang- 
way, swallowing  the  last  of  his  breakfast. 

"  After  you,  sir,"  said  Cammock  to  Perrin,  as  they 
made  politeness  at  the  cabin  door. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Perria,  with  a  little  bow. 

They  passed  in  to  the  alley-way,  to  the  cabin  table. 

The  cabin  of  the  Broken  Heart  was  large  and  airy. 
The  stern-windows,  a  skylight  amidships,  and  the  white 
paint  upon  the  beams  and  bulkheads,  made  it  lighter 
than  the  cabins  of  most  vessels.  A  locker,  heaped  with 
green  cushions,  so  that  it  made  a  seat  for  a  dozen  per- 
sons, ran  below  the  windows.  Under  the  skylight  was 
the  table,  with  revolving  chairs  about  it,  clamped  to 
the  deck.  At  both  sides  of  the  cabin  were  lesser  cabins 
opening  into  it.  On  the  port  side,  the  perpetual  wonder 
of  Captain  Cammock  (who,  though,  like  all  seamen,  a 
scrupulously  clean  man,  never  dreamed  of  desecrating 
it  by  use),  was  a  bath-room.  To  starboard  was  a  large, 


16  CAPTAIN  MAEGAEET 

double  state-room,  with  a  standing  bed  in  it,  where 
Captain  Margaret  slept.  Forward  of  the  cabin  bulk- 
head (which  fitted  in  a  groove,  so  that  it  might  be 
unshipped  in  time  of  battle)  were  other  quarters,  to 
which  one  passed  from  the  cabin  by  an  alley-way  lead- 
ing to  the  deck  below  the  break  of  the  poop.  To  port, 
in  these  quarters,  was  Perrin's  cabin,  with  Cammock's 
room  beyond.  To  starboard  was  the  steward's  pantry 
and  sleeping-place,  with  the  sail-room  just  forward  of 
it.  The  bulkheads  were  all  painted  white,  and  each 
cabin  was  lighted  by  scuttles  from  above,  as  well  as  by 
the  heavy  gun-ports  in  the  ship's  side,  each  port-lid 
with  a  glass  bull's-eye  in  it.  The  cabins  were  there- 
fore light  and  bright,  having  always  an  air  of  cleanly 
freshness.  The  great  cabin  would  have  passed  for  the 
chamber  of  a  house  ashore,  but  for  the  stands  of  arms, 
bright  with  polished  metal,  on  each  side  of  the  book- 
case. Over  the  book-case  was  a  small  white  shield, 
on  which,  in  red  brilliants,  was  the  Broken  Heart. 
When  the  light  failed,  at  the  coming  of  the  dusk,  the 
crimson  of  the  brilliants  gleamed;  there  was  a  burning 
eye  above  the  book-case,  searching  those  at  meat,  weigh- 
ing them,  judging  them. 

The  stern-windows  were  open,  letting  in  the  sunlight. 
The  table  was  laid  for  breakfast.  The  steward  in  his 
uniform  stood  bare-headed,  waiting  for  the  company. 
The  door  of  the  state-room  opened  smartly,  and  Captain 
Margaret  entered.  He  advanced  with  a  smile,  shook 
hands  with  the  two  men,  bidding  them  good  morning. 
Perrin,  ever  sensitive  to  his  friend,  glanced  at  him  for  a 
moment  to  note  if  he  had  slept  ill,  through  brooding 
on  his  love;  but  the  mask  upon  his  friend's  face  was 
drawn  close,  the  inner  man  was  hidden;  a  sufficient 
sign  to  Perrin  that  his  friend  was  troubled.  Captain 
Cammock  looked  at  hia  employer  with  interest,  as  he 


THE  "  BROKEN  HEART  "  17 

would  have  looked  at  a  man  who  had  been  at  the  North 
Pole.  "  So  he's  in  love  with  a  girl,  hey  ?  "  he  thought. 
"  Gone  half  crazed  about  a  girl.  In  love.  And  the 
lady  give  him  the  foresheet,  hey  ? "  He  even  peered 
out  of  the  stern-window  over  Salcombe,  with  the  thought 
that  somewhere  among  those  houses,  or  walking  in  one 
of  those  gardens,  went  the  lady  Olivia,  wonderfully 
beautiful,  squired  by  the  unspeakable  Stukeley. 

"  Hope  we  didn't  wake  you,  sir,"  he  said  politely. 
"  One  can't  carry  on  without  noise,  coming  to  anchor." 

"  I  thought  I  heard  your  voice  once,"  said  Captain 
Margaret.  "  You  were  talking  about  grilling  the  blood 
of  some  one." 

"  They  don't  understand  no  other  language,"  said 
the  captain,  with  a  grin.  Then,  rapping  the  table  with 
his  knife,  at  his  place  as  captain,  he  mumbled  out  a 
blessing.  "  Bless  this  food,  O  Lord,  for  the  support 
of  our  bodies."  The  rest  of  the  blessing  he  always 
omitted;  for  a  jocular  shipmate  had  once  parodied  it, 
in  a  scandalous  manner,  much  appreciated  by  himself. 
"  He'd  had  a  wonderful  education,  that  man,"  he  always 
maintained.  "  He  must  have  had  a  brain,  to  think  of 
a  real  wit  like  that  was." 

Captain  Cammock  helped  the  fresh  salmon  (bought 
that  morning  from  a  fisherman)  with  the  story  of  the 
duff.  Until  the  tale  was  ended,  the  company  hungered. 

"  Did  y'ever  hear  of  the  captain  and  the  passenger  ?  " 
he  asked.  "  They  was  at  dinner  on  Sunday ;  and  they'd 
a  roll  of  duff.  So  the  captain  asks  the  passenger,  like 
I'd  ask  you  about  this  salmon.  He  asks  him,  '  Do 
you  like  ends  ? '  No,  he  didn't  like  no  ends,  the  pas- 
senger didn't.  '  Well,  me  and  my  mate  does,'  says 
the  captain;  so  he  cuts  the  duff  in  two,  and  gives  the 
mate  one  half  and  eats  the  other  himself." 

"  Strange  things  happen  at  sea,"  eaid  Perrin» 


18  CAPTAIN  MARGABET 

"  I  believe  Captain  Cammock  makes  these  stories  up," 
said  Margaret.  "  In  the  night-watches,  when  he  isn't 
grilling  seamen's  bloods." 

"  Yes,"  said  Perrin,  "  yes." 

"  Is  that  right,  captain  ?  "  asked  Margaret.  "  Do  you 
make  these  stories  up  yourself  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Cammock,  "  I've  not  got  the  educa- 
tion, and  I've  something  else  to  think  about.  These 
writer  fellows  —  beg  pardon,  Captain  Margaret,  I  don't 
mean  you,  sir  —  they're  often  very  unpractical. 
They'd  let  a  ship  fall  overboard." 

"  So  you  think  them  very  unpractical,  do  you,  cap- 
tain ? "  said  Margaret.  "  What  makes  you  think 
that?" 

"  Because  they  are,  sir,"  he  replied.     "  They're  al- 
ways reading  poetry  and  that.     From  all  I  can  make 
out  of  it,  poetry's  a  lot  of  slush." 
•    "  Have  you  ever  read  any  ?  "  said  Perrin. 

"  Who  ?  Me  ?  "  said  Cammock.  "  Bless  yer,  yes. 
Reams  of  it.  A  book  of  it  called  Paradise  Lost.  Very 
religious,  some  of  it.  I  had  enough  of  poetry  with  that 
inside  me.  I  can't  say  as  I  ever  read  much  since." 

"  Well,  captain,"  said  Margaret,  "  it  hasn't  made  you 
unpractical." 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  captain.  "  But  then  I  never  give 
it  a  chance  to.  I've  always  had  my  work  to  see  to." 

"  And  what  has  been  your  work  ?  Always  with 
ships?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  was  a  logwood-cutter  one  time." 

"  And  what  is  logwood-cutting  like  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  hard  work,  sir.  Don't  you  forget  it. 
You're  chopping  all  the  forenoon,  and  splitting  what 
you  chopped  all  afternoon,  and  rolling  the  pieces  to  the 
lagoon  all  evening.  And  all  night  you  drink  rum  and 
sings.  Then  up  again  next  morning.  Your  arms  get 


THE  "BROKEN  HEART"  10 

all  bright  red  from  logwood,  and  you  get  a  taste  for 
sucking  the  chips.     A  queer  taste." 

"  And  who  buys  your  logwood  ? "  said  Margaret. 
"  Who  uses  it  ?  What's  it  used  for  ?  " 

"  I  don't  rightly  know  about  that,  except  for  dyeing," 
said  Cammock.  "  A  Captain  Brown  bought  all  we  cut. 
But  we'd  great  times  along  the  banks  of  the  lagoon." 

"  When  you  say  great  times,"  said  Margaret,  "  what 
do  you  mean  exactly?  What  was  it,  in  logwood- 
cutting,  which  seems  great  to  you?  And  was  it. great 
to  you  then,  or  only  now,  when  you  look  back  on  it  ?  " 

"Did  y'ever  hear  tell  of  the  Mast  ship,'  sir?"  said 
Cammock.  With  another  man  he  might  have  resented 
the  continual  questioning;  but  Captain  Margaret 
always  made  him  feel  that  he,  old  pirate  as  he  was, 
had  yet,  even  in  spite  of,  perhaps  by  reason  of,  his 
piracies,  a  claim  upon,  an  interest  for,  the  man  of  in- 
tellect and  the  man  of  culture.  "  Did  y'ever  hear  tell 
of  the  '  last  ship,'  sir  ?  "  said  Cammock. 

"  No,"  said  Margaret.  "  Tell  us  about  the  last 
ship." 

"  Do  you  mean  Noah's  ark  ?  "  said  Perrin. 

"  The  public-house  ?  "  asked  the  captain. 

"  No.     A  ship.     I'll  tell  you  of  the  last  ship." 

"  What  has  the  last  ship  got  to  do  with  the  great 
times  on  the  lagoon  ?  "  asked  Margaret. 

"  Just  this,  Captain  Margaret.  When  a  growler.  A 
pug,  you  understand;  one  of  the  hands  forward  there. 
When  a  seaman  comes  aboard  a  new  ship,  he  always 
blows  at  the  rate  of  knots  about  his  last.  You'll  never 
hear  of  the  ship  he's  in.  No,  sir.  She's  hungry.  Or 
wet.  Or  her  old  man's  a  bad  one.  But  so  soon  as  he 
leaves  her.  Oh,  my  love,  what  a  ship  she  was,  my  love. 
Bacon  for  breakfast;  fires  to  dry  your  clothes  at; 
prayers  and  rum  of  a  Sunday  forenoon.  Everything. 


20  CAPTAIN  MAEGAEET 

That's  what  I  mean  by  a  last  ship.  So  when  I  says 
we'd  great  times  on  the  lagoon,  why,  it's  only  a  way 
of  speaking.  I  mean  as  it  seems  just  beautiful,  now 
it's  over.  I'll  just  trouble  you,  Mr.  Perrin,  if  there's 
any  more  beer  in  the  jug." 

"  So  that's  the  last  ship,  Captain  Cammock,"  said 
Margaret.  "Well,  and  now  tell  us  what  seems  great 
to  you,  when  you  think  of  —  of  your  last  ship,  in  the 
lagoon,  as  you  call  it." 

Captain  Cammock  looked  at  Perrin,  who  seldom  spoke 
at  meals,  perhaps  because  his  intellect  was  too  feeble  to 
allow  him  to  do  more  than  one  thing  at  a  time.  Perrin, 
who  hated  to  be  looked  at  when  he  was  eating,  from 
some  shy  belief  that  no  one  looked  at  him  save  with  a 
desire  to  laugh,  gulped  what  he  had  in  his  mouth  at  the 
moment,  choked,  and  hid  his  confusion  in  his  tankard. 
Captain  Cammock  did  the  same,  lest  he  should  appear 
rude. 

"  Now  that's  no  easy  question,  Captain  Margaret,"  he 
said.  "  It  wasn't  great,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it. 
It  was  hard  work.  As  hard  as  shovelling  coal.  And 
hot.  Oh,  it's  hot  in  them  lagoons.  Sometimes  our 
shirts  would  be  wringing  wet  with  perspiration.  And 
often  we  were  up  to  our  knees  in  mud,  where  we  worked, 
and  little  red  devils  biting  us,  besides  mosquitoes.  And 
there  were  thorns  on  the  logwood;  spikes  as  sharp  as 
stings." 

"  What  were  your  amusements  ?  "  said  Margaret. 

"  Oh,  as  to  them,"  replied  the  captain.  "  We'd  go 
hunt  a  wild  cow  on  Saturdays.  Or  perhaps  fish.  Or 
sometimes  we'd  go  a  lot  of  us  among  the  Indians,  to  a 
paw-waw.  And  then  ships  come.  We'd  great  times 
when  ships  come.  In  the  moonlight.  We'd  sing  and 
drink  rum.  And  firing  off  pistols  and  cheering.  Oh, 
we'd  great  times." 


THE  "  BROKEN  HEART ':  21 

"  Why  don't  you  go  back  to  it  ?  "  asked  Captain  Mar- 
garet. "  You  don't  go  back  to  it.  Why  not  ?  " 

"  It  wouldn't  be  the  same,"  said  Cammock,  as  he 
prepared  his  morning's  pipe.  "  The  men  I  knowed  are 
gone.  They'd  have  new  ways,  the  new  lot.  Besides, 
that  sort  of  thing  only  goes  when  you're  young.  When 
you  get  the  salt  in  your  bones,  you  find  the  young 
devils  don't  like  having  you  around.  And  the  girls 
get  particular.  You  can't  get  a  wife  no  longer  for  a 
yard  of  blue  baize  and  a  stick  of  sealing-wax.  Excuse 
me,  captain.  I'm  a  sailor.  I  sometimes  talk  rough. 
But  there  it  is.  All  a  sailor  has  at  the  end  is  just  what 
he-can  remember.  What  I  can  mind  of  logwood-cutting 
is  the  same  as  a  trader's  money-bags  is  to  him.  I  must 
be  off  forward,  to  have  my  morning  draw."  He  spun 
his  chair  round,  and  rose,  pressing  the  tobacco  into 
his  clay  pipe.  "  Give  me  my  hat,  stooard."  He  bowed 
to  the  two  friends,  walking  slowly  to  the  cabin  door. 
"  By  the  way,  sir,"  he  called  back.  "  I  forgot  to  ask. 
I  suppose  you'll  be  going  ashore  this  fine  morning  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret,  "  I  am  going  ashore.  I  shall 
want  the  boat,  captain." 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  said  Cammock.  "  Will  you  want 
to  fill  our  water,  sir  ?  " 

"  ]STo,"  said  Margaret.  "  I  shall  sail  before  sunset,  if 
the  wind  holds.  We  shall  fill  no  more  water  till  we 
make  Virginia." 

"  Very  good,  Captain  Margaret,"  said  Cammock. 
"  If  you  don't  want  the  hands,  I'll  try  them  at  the  guns. 
It's  time  they  got  into  the  way  of  doing  things." 

He  spun  upon  his  heel,  leaving  the  two  friends  to- 
gether. The  steward,  gathering  up  the  gear,  retired  to 
the  pantry  to  wash  up. 

Captain  Charles  Margaret,  the  owner  of  the  Broken 
Heart,  sitting  there  in  his  chair,  in  the  quiet  cabin, 


22 

was  not  yet  forty ;  but  his  brown  hair  was  grizzled,  and 
his  handsome  face,  so  grave,  so  full  of  dignity,  was 
marked  austerely  with  lines.  He  gave  one,  at  first, 
the  impression  of  a  man  who  had  lived  fully,  grandly, 
upon  many  sides  of  life;  with  a  nobility  inherent,  not 
to  be  imitated.  It  was  only  after  long  months  of  friend- 
ship that  the  observer  could  learn  the  man's  real  nature. 
He  would  see  then  that  the  real  nature,  ripened,  as  it 
was,  on  so  many  sides,  ready,  as  it  was,  to  blossom 
wonderfully,  had  never  come  to  flower,  still  less  to  fruit. 
It  was  a  great  nature,  checked  by  some  hunger  of  the 
soul,  which  (this  is  the  sorrow  of  all  beautiful  desire) 
would  perhaps  have  destroyed  the  soul,  had  it  been 
satisfied.  He  was  one  who  had  loved  for  many  years. 
He  had  paid  away  all  the  gold  of  his  life,  for  a  sorrow 
and  a  few  copper  memories.  He  had  loved  nobly,  like 
a  man  of  the  heroic  time,  letting  life  go  by  him  with  a 
smile,  so  long  as  the  woman  whom  he  loved  might 
be  spared  one  little  moment's  annoyance,  one  little 
wrinkling  of  the  beautiful  brow.  He  had  said  to  him- 
self that  he  had  worn  this  woman's  glove,  and  that  he 
would  wear  no  other  woman's  petticoat.  And  from 
long  brooding  on  this  wayward  beauty  who  had  spoiled 
his  life,  he  had  learned  much  of  women.  He  understood 
them  emotionally  with  a  clearness  which  sometimes 
frightened  him.  He  felt  that  he  took  a  base  advan- 
tage of  them  in  allowing  them  to  talk  to  him.  Their 
hearts  were  open  books  to  him.  Though  the  woman 
said,  "  Look  on  this  page,  or  on  this,"  his  instinct,  never 
wrong,  revealed  to  him  the  page  she  tried  to  hide;  and 
his  indulgence  of  this  sense  made  him,  at  times,  of  little 
use  in  conversation;  for  the  revealed  truth  amused 
him  more  than  its  polite  screen.  At  times  its  possession 
saddened  him,  for  he  knew  that  he  would  never  exercise 
that  sense  in  the  tenderness  of  the  accepted  lover,  read- 


THE  «  BROKEN  HEART "  23 

ing  the  unspoken  thought  in  the  beloved  eyes.  In  his 
person  he  was  tall  and  finely  built,  but  a  certain  clumsi- 
ness in  his  walk  made  his  appearance  ungraceful  when 
he  left  his  chair.  His  hands  were  singularly  beautiful. 
His  eyes  were  grey  and  deep-set.  His  face  was  pale, 
inclining  to  sallow,  but  bronzed  by  the  wind  and  sun. 
He  was  careful,  but  quiet  in  his  dress.  He  wore  a 
black  suit,  precisely  cut,  like  the  clothes  of  a  Puritan, 
but  for  its  fine  lace  collar  and  elaborately  carved  buttons 
of  scarlet  ivory. 

He  had,  as  he  felt,  failed  in  life,  because  he  had  failed 
in  love;  a  point  of  view  common  among  women,  in  a 
man  a  confession  of  self-praise,  selfishness,  almost  of 
vanity.  He  had  allowed  his  passion  to  keep  him  from 
action;  by  which,  alone,  growth  or  worth  can  be  deter- 
mined. He,  as  a  lover,  having,  as  he  thought,  created 
a  life  for  himself,  more  beautiful,  because  intenser,  than 
the  lives  of  others,  even  of  artists,  had  lived  retired, 
judging,  as  all  retired  men  will,  all  actions,  all  life,  all 
things,  by  an  arbitrary  standard,  his  own  standard, 
the  value  of  which  he  was  incapable  of  judging.  He 
had  been  certain,  led  away,  as  he  had  been,  by  wild 
love,  that  his  way  was  the  way  of  self-perfection,  to 
which  all  ways  assisted,  rightly  used.  In  so  far  as  his 
passion  had  fitted  him  for  the  aifairs  of  the  world,  by 
adding  graces,  or  accomplishments  to  a  nature  rich 
already,  he  had  profited.  He  had  studied  arts,  some 
half  a  dozen  different  kinds,  so  that  his  mind  might 
have  the  more  facets  to  twinkle  agreeably  for  his  mis- 
tress's pleasure.  But  with  the  confidence  of  various 
skill  had  come,  also,  intellectual  pride;  for  to  the  man 
who  knew  a  little  of  many  things,  many  things  seemed 
little,  since  none,  save  a  hopeless  passion,  seemed  great. 
With  this  had  come  a  shrinking  from  the  world,  a  toler- 
ance of  it  that  was  half  contempt,  a  distrust  of  it  that 


24  CAPTAIN  MARGAKET 

was  half  sorrow  for  it.  He  lived  away  from  the  world, 
in  a  fanciful  chamber,  where  the  kings  of  his  imagina- 
tion offered  precious  balms  for  ever  to  the  aloof  lady, 
queen  and  saint.  It  was  his  fancy,  in  the  latter  years 
of  his  passion,  to  sublime  all  human  experience,  to  re- 
duce all  action  to  intellectual  essence,  as  an  offering  to 
her.  This  had  begun  from  a  desire  to  amuse  her  in 
conversation.  Later,  as  his  aloofness  from  the  world 
drove  him  still  more  upon  his  folly,  he  had  one  day 
trembled  lest  she  should  ask  him  something  that  he  did 
not  know,  or  could  not  resolve.  It  had  given  to  him  a 
new  interest  in  the  world;  but  a  fantastic  interest;  he 
saw  it  only  for  her,  to  some  extent  through  her.  He 
searched  the  measure  of  his  friends'  experience,  trying 
to  find,  as  he  had  tried  that  morning  with  Captain 
Cammock,  some  purpose  or  delight,  some  glory  or 
dignity  in  the  various  tale,  which  might,  in  his  own 
hands,  become  beauteous  to  her,  and  to  himself  sweet, 
being,  as  he  never  doubted  it  would  prove,  less  glori- 
ous, less  grand,  than  his  daily  experience  of  high  emo- 
tion. 

Now  that  the  two  friends  were  together  in  the  cabin, 
there  was  a  silence.  Throughout  the  meal  Margaret 
had  kept  the  old  pirate  talking,  in  order  to  divert  Perrin 
from  the  protests  which  he  knew  would  come.  Now 
that  they  were  alone,  the  protests  were  long  in  coming. 
Perrin  fidgeted  between  the  table  and  the  book-case, 
biting  his  thumbs,  evidently  waiting  for  his  friend  to 
speak.  At  last,  feeling  that  he  could  wait  no  longer, 
and  speaking  crudely  because  he  spoke  from  his  own 
initiative,  he  began  —r 

"  Look  here,  Charles,  you  ought  not  to  go  ashore 
to-day." 

"Why  not?"  said  his  friend.  "It's  the  end  of 
everything." 


THE  "  BROKEN  HEART  '•  25 

"Her  marriage  was  the  end  of  everything,"  said 
Perrin.  "  Look  here,  man,  you're  coming  this  cruise  to 
get  rid  of  your  sorrow.  Don't  go  ashore  and  begin  it  all 
over  again.  You'll  only  upset  yourself,  and  very  likely 
give  her  pain." 

"  You  don't  understand,  Edward,"  said  Margaret. 
"  She  has  been  my  whole  life  for  four  years.  If  I 
could.  I  don't  know.  If  I  could,  it  might  be  wiser 
to  go  away  without  a  word.  Ah,  no,  no.  I  can't. 
You  can't  cut  off  a  part  of  your  life  like  that.  I  must 
go." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Perrin,  "  I  insist  on  coming  with 
you.  You'll  just  see  her,  and  come  away.  I'm  weak, 
I  know,  and  all  that ;  but  I  will  save  you  from  making 
ducks  and  drakes  of  your  life.  If  you  see  her,  you'll 
see  her  with  me.  But  I  think  you're  very  unwise, 
Charles.  If  you  weren't  owner,  I'd  clap  you  in  irons 
and  put  to  sea.  I  know  one  thing.  If  you  see  her,  no 
good'll  come  of  it.  Look  here,  man;  do  drop  her,  and 
let's  get  away  while  the  wind  holds." 

"  No.  I  must  see  her,"  said  Margaret  stubbornly. 
"  And  I  couldn't  have  you  with  me.  That's  impos- 
sible." 

"  Why  impossible  ?  " 

"  Because.  Well,  we  won't  talk  of  that.  My  mind 
is  made  up.  By  the  way,  Edward,  you  were  up  very 
early,  weren't  you  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't  sleep.  I  wanted  to  see  the  sunrise.  I've 
heard  so  much  about  sunrise  at  sea.  And  I  got  into 
talk  with  the  captain.  I  told  him  a  little  about  our 
plans.  I  hope  you  don't  mind." 

"  No.  I'm  glad.  We  shall  have  to  go  into  that  to- 
night. By  the  way,  Edward,  I  want  you,  after  this, 
to  stand  two  watches  a  day.  I  shall  do  the  same.  We 
must  learn  what  stuff  our  men  are  made  of  before  we 


26  CAPTAIN  MABGAEET 

reach  Virginia;  for  in  Virginia  we  shall  have  to  weed 
out  our  crew.  We  can  have  no  skulkers  where  we  are 
going." 

"  All  right,  Charles.  I'm  going  on  deck  now.  I 
think  you're  very  foolish.  Your  going  to  see  her  will 
do  no  good.  So  I  tell  you.  Eemember  me  to  her." 
He  picked  up  his  hat,  and  walked  out  of  the  cabin  to  the 
deck. 

Captain  Margaret  rose  from  his  chair,  glanced 
through  the  stern-port  at  the  harbour,  and  sighed  a 
little. 

"  Well,"  he  said  abruptly,  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
"  what  must  be,  must  be.  Perhaps  they'll  be  out  when 
I  get  there.  Perhaps  she'll  refuse  to  see  me." 

His  mind,  which  now  made  none  save  romantic 
images,  imaged  for  him  the  Broken  Heart  at  sea,  under 
her  colours,  going  over  the  water,  her  owner  looking 
astern  at  land  he  would  never  again  tread.  It  imaged 
for  him  a  garden  ashore,  full  of  roses  and  tall  white 
campanulas.  A  lady  walked  there,  looking  seaward, 
regretting  that  she  had  not  seen  him,  that  she  had  not 
bidden  him  good-bye.  Oh,  very  sweet,  very  tender, 
were  the  images  which  rose  up  in  him,  for  the  ten 
thousandth  time,  as  he  stared  out  over  Salcombe  har- 
bour. And  each  image,  each  romantic  symbol  imagined 
or  created,  was  a  heavy  nail,  a  heavy  copper  bolt,  nail- 
ing him  within  the  coffin  of  his  past,  among  the  skeletons 
of  starved  hopes  and  strangled  passions. 


II 

A    FAKEWEI/L 

"  Farewell,  thou  art  too  dear  for  my  possessing." 

Sonnet  Ixxxvii. 

"  Here  take  my  picture ;  though  I  bid  farewell, 
Thine,  in  my  heart,  where  my  soul  dwells,  shall  dwell." 

JOHN  DONNE. 

Iltf  a  little  room  ashore,  in  a  private  suite  of  a  big  inn 
near  the  church,  Tom  Stukeley  sat  alone  at  break- 
fast, staring  down  the  garden,  across  the  sea,  to  the 
moored  ships.  He  was  a  tall,  powerful,  well-made  man, 
of  a  physical  type  more  common  in  Ireland  than  in 
England,  but  not  rare  here.  He  was,  above  all  things, 
a  creature  of  the  body.  One  had  but  to  look  at  him  to 
realize  that  when  he  died  there  would  be  little  for 
Ehadamanthus.  One  could  not  like  the  man;  for 
though  his  body  had  a  kind  of  large  splendour,  it  was 
the  splendour  of  the  prize  cabbage,  of  the  prize  pig,  a 
splendour  really  horrible.  It  is  horrible  to  see  any 
large  thing  without  intelligence.  The  sight  is  an  ac- 
quiescence in  an  offence  against  nature.  Tom  Stukeley 
was  designed  by  nature  for  the  position  of  publican. 
He  had  the  vulgarity  and  the  insolence  of  a  choice  Eng- 
lish bagman,  in  the  liquor  line,  together  with  this  hand- 
some body,  red  face,  and  thick  black  hair.  By  the  acci- 
dent of  birth  he  was  a  gentleman.  In  seeing  him  one 
realized  the  tragedy  of  life's  apportionments.  One 
realized  that  to  build  up  this,  this  mass  of  mucous  mem- 

27 


28  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

brane,  boorishly  informed,  lit  only  by  the  marsh-lights 
of  indulged  sense,  the  many  toiled  in  poverty,  in  en- 
forced though  hated  ignorance,  in  life  without  ease, 
without  joy. 

His  coarsely  coloured  face  passed  for  beauty,  his 
insolence  for  strength  of  character,  even  for  wit,  among 
those  men  and  women  with  whom  he  consorted.  His 
outward  manner  had  something  of  the  off-handed  ease 
of  the  inferior  actor,  who  drinks,  and  tells  tales,  and 
remarks  upon  the  passing  women.  But  he  had  little 
of  the  actor's  good  humour.  He  had,  instead,  that  air 
of  insolent  superiority  which  makes  the  inferior  soul, 
arrogant  always,  like  the  dunghill  cock,  clamorous  of 
the  glory  of  dung.  In  company  he  was  rude  to  all 
whom  he  did  not  fear.  He  was  more  rude  to  women 
than  to  men,  partly  because  he  feared  them  less;  but 
partly  because  his  physical  tastes  were  gross,  so  that 
he  found  pleasure  in  all  horse-play  —  such  as  the  snatch- 
ing of  handkerchiefs  or  trinkets,  or  even  of  kisses  —  in 
gaining  which  he  had  to  touch  or  maul  his  victims, 
whether  protesting  or  acquiescent.  Women  were  at- 
tracted by  him,  perhaps  because  he  frightened  them 
physically.  His  love  affairs  were  not  unlike  the  love 
affairs  of  python  and  gazelle.  "  They  like  it,"  he  would 
say.  "  They  like  it." 

To  men  whom  he  did  not  fear,  to  those  of  them,  that 
is,  who  had  no  advantage  of  fortune  or  position  from 
which  he  could  hope  to  profit,  he  acted  with  studied 
rudeness,  with  the  unintellectual  unvaried  rudeness  of 
a  school  bully,  particularly  if  they  displayed  any  little 
sally  of  wit,  any  fondness  for  art,  any  fineness  of  intelli- 
gence beyond  him.  It  is  possible  to  think  of  him  with 
pity,  as  of  one  born  out  of  his  due  time  and  out  of  his 
right  circle.  He  was  a  cad,  born  a  gentleman. 

He  sat  alone  at  breakfast,  with  the  breakfast  dishes 


A  FAREWELL  29 

pushed  far  away  from  him;  for  he  had  risen  late,  and 
had  sat  late  at  wine  the  night  before.  The  thought  of 
food  was  nauseous  to  him ;  he  drank  small  beer  thirstily ; 
and  damned  his  wife  under  his  breath  for  being  risen 
from  table,  as  he  would,  perhaps,  have  damned  her  aloud 
had  she  been  present.  He  had  been  married  for  some 
three  months  and  had  begun  to  find  the  simulation  of 
virtue  tedious.  His  head  ached;  and  he  was  very 
angry  with  his  wife.  He  had  married  her  for  her 
money,  and  he  now  found  that  the  money  was  so  tied 
that  her  husband  had  no  power  over  it;  but  that  the 
trustees  of  her  father's  estate,  who  viewed  him  with  no 
favour,  had  powers  which  he  had  not  suspected.  Much 

as  he  had  ever  hated  the  law,  he  had  never He 

rose  up  from  his  seat  with  an  oath,  believing  for  a  wild 
moment  that  the  marriage  might  be  set  aside.  She  had 
misled  him ;  she  must  have  known  that  all  he  wanted  was 
her  money.  The  marriage  had  been  a  secret  one.  But 
that  belief  only  lasted  for  a  moment ;  he  was  "  married 
and  done  for,"  and  here  was  the  lawyer's  letter  refusing 
supplies.  He  had  run  through  their  ready  money  at 
cards  the  night  before.  All  that  remained  to  him  was 
a  handful  of  small  change,  and  a  handful  of  tradesmen's 
bills.  All  through  breakfast  the  bills  had  been  arriving, 
for  the  word  had  spread  abroad  that  the  Stukeleys  were 
leaving  Salcombe  at  the  end  of  their  third  week's  stay. 
He  had  been  in  awkward  corners  before;  but  never  in 
the  country,  and  never  before  had  he  been  involved 
with  a  wife.  He  could  not  think  what  to  do,  for  his 
head  ached  furiously.  He  had  made  too  free  with  the 
common  purse  in  the  certainty  of  receiving  money  that 
morning.  "  Your  obedient  servants,"  ran  the  letter. 
He  stamped  up  and  down  the  room,  swearing  and  biting 
his  nails.  He  could  not  return  to  London  without 
money;  nor  did  he  dare  to  return;  for  he  had  many 


30  CAPTAIN  MABGAKET 

debts,  and  feared  arrest.  He  wondered  whether  Olivia 
had  any  friends  in  those  parts  from  whom  he  or  she 
might  borrow  money.  "  It's  time  Olivia  got  broken  in," 
he  thought. 

A  servant  entered  with  a  letter.  He  took  it  from 
her,  staring  at  her  with  the  hard  insolence  of  his  class. 
The  girl  dropped  her  eyes,  looked  confused,  and  then 
smiled  at  him. 

"  Aha,"  he  said  lightly.  He  caught  her  hand  and 
pressed  it,  still  looking  into  her  eyes. 

"  No,"  said  the  girl  hurriedly.  "  There's  some  one 
coming.''* 

"  You're  my  little  duckling,  aren't  you  ?  "  he  said 
softly,  catching  her  round  the  waist. 

"  Be  quiet,"  she  answered,  frightened.  "  I'm  sure  I 
hear  some  one  coming." 

He  listened  for  a  second,  maintaining  his  hold. 
"  Nonsense,"  he  said.  "  Nonsense,  Amy." 

"  My  name's  Jessie,"  she  said  pertly. 

He  bent  and  kissed  her  lips ;  the  girl  made  some  show 
of  virtue  by  calling  him  a  bad  man. 

"  Oh  law,"  said  Jessie,  breaking  from  him  hastily. 

"  There's  some  one "  She  seized  two  plates  upon 

the  table,  and  made  a  bustling  pretence  at  clearing 
away.  On  learning  that  it  was  a  false  alarm,  she  looked 
at  him  with  a  sort  of  slinking  grace. 

"  You've  made  my  hair  untidy,"  she  said  reproach- 
fully. 

He  walked  up  to  her,  laughing.  She  backed  from 
him  with  a  grin. 

"  Jess-ie,"  came  a  cry  from  without. 

"  It's  missus,"  she  said,  terrified,  going  to  the  door. 

"  Yes,  mum." 

"  The  man  wants  an  answer  for  that  letter  he 
brought." 


A  FAREWELL  31 

"  Yes,  mum,"  she  cried.  "  In  a  minute,  mum. 
There's  an  answer,  sir.  What's  the  amwer,  sir  ?  " 

Stukeley  tore  the  paper  open.     A  bill  fell  out. 

"Oh  damn,"  he  exclaimed.  "Tell  him  I'll  look 
in  in  the  morning." 

Jessie  carried  the  message  to  the  bearer ;  and  returned 
with  another. 

"  Please,  sir,  the  man  says  he  won't  go  unless  he  has 
his  money,  sir." 

"Won't  he?"  said  Stukeley  angrily.  "I'll  see 
whether  he  won't." 

He  picked  up  his  cane  and  walked  out  swiftly.  The 
servant  listened  at  the  door  for  the  details  of  the  quar- 
rel. 

"  Hark-ee,"  came  Stukeley's  voice.  "  Here's  your 
bill.  D'ye  see  it  ?  There !  " —  there  came  a  sound  of 
tearing  paper  — "  Now  take  that  back  to  your  master. 
Next  time  you  disturb  me  at  breakfast  I'll  break  your 
head.  Get  out  of  this." 

The  haberdasher's  clerk  withdrew.  The  landlady 
aided  his  retreat  with  a  few  words  about  not  having  her 
guests  disturbed. 

Stukeley  returned  to  his  breakfast-room.  Jessie 
looked  at  him  admiringly. 

"  Aha,  Jessie,"  he  said.  "  What  nice  arms  you've 
got.  Eh?  Haven't  you?  Eh?  Beautiful  arms." 
He  pinched  them,  following  her  about  as  she  backed  to 
avoid  him. 

"  You've  got  a  wife,"  said  Jessie.  "  What  do  you 
want  with  arms  ?  Don't !  Don't !  You'll  make  me 
scream  out." 

Again  came  the  voice  of  the  mistress. 

"  Jessie !     Jessie !     Drat  the  girl." 

The  amorous  by-play  ceased ;  Jessie  went  swiftly. 

She  soon  returned,  bringing  a  visitor,  a  coarse  fair- 


32  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

haired  man,  with  a  face  not  unlike  a  horse's  face,  but 
without  the  beauty.  His  cheeks  were  rather  puffy; 
his  eyelids  drooped  down  over  his  eyes,  so  that  he  gave 
one  the  impression  of  extreme  short  sight,  or  of  some 
eye-disease.  He  peered  out  under  his  eyelids.  One 
felt  that  the  house  so  lit  was  a  dark,  narrow,  mean  little 
thieves'  house. 

"  Mr.  Haly  to  see  you,  sir,"  said  Jessie. 

Mr.  Haly  entered,  to  find  his  friend  Stukeley  retiring 
through  the  other  door.  He  turned  back  in  the  door- 
way on  hearing  the  name. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  Monty,"  he  said.  "  What  brings  you 
to  Salcombe  ? " 

"  You  took  me  for  a  dun,"  said  Mr.  Haly,  with  a 
jocular  whine  peculiar  to  him.  "  You  took  me  for  a 
dun.  I'll  sit  down,  if  this  pretty  charmer  here  " —  he 
ogled  J'enny,  with  a  look  which  would  have  made  a 
wanton  chaste  — "  will  give  me  a  chair.  Thank  you, 
my  dear."  He  sat  down ;  Jessie  left  the  room. 

te  I've  come  down  with  young  Killigrew,"  he  said. 
"  He  offered  to  pay  my  expenses.  So  I  thought  I'd  look 
you  up,  to  see  how  married  bliss  looks.  Hey,  Tom? 
How's  the  wife?  Hey,  Tom?  How's  Cupid's  dove? 
Hey?  I  suppose  she's  making  little  clothes  already? 
Hey?" 

He  laughed  pursily ;  helped  himself,  unbidden,  to  the 
beer,  cut  himself  a  snack  from  his  friend's  untasted 
breakfast,  buttered  it  thickly,  and  began  to  eat.  His 
friendships  were  selfish  always.  "  Give  nothing,  but 
take  all  you  can  get,"  would  have  been  his  motto,  had  he 
had  sufficient  intellect  to  think  it  out.  It  had  helped 
him  in  the  world ;  but  his  greed,  never  sated,  had  per- 
haps helped  him  less  than  his  power  of  flattering  those 
who  were  richer,  but  no  more  intelligent  than  himself. 
Stukeley  ignored  his  friend's  questions,  not  because  he 


A  FAKEWELL  33 

objected  to  them,  but  because  he  expected  something 
more  from  Mr.  Haly. 

"  There  was  another  reason  why  I  called,"  said  Haly, 
after  a  pause.  "  I  travelled  down  from  town  with  old 
Bent,  your  landlord  that  was." 

"  With  old  Bent  ? "  said  Stukeley,  becoming  more 
attentive. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Haly.  "  He'd  heard  you  were  in 
Salcombe.  I  believe  he  wants  to  see  you." 

"  Damn  it.     He  does,"  said  Stukeley. 

"  Well,"  said  Haly,  "  then  I  hope  it's  not  a  large  sum. 
But  still,  now  you're  married  to  an  heiress,  you  lucky 
dog,  why,  you  can  laugh  at  old  Bent,  I  should  think." 

"  Yes,"  said  Stukeley  quietly.  "  What  time  is  old 
Bent  coming  here  ?  " 

Haly  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  We're  not  in  town 
now,"  he  said.  "  He  might  come  any  time." 

Stukeley  offered  his  friend  some  more  beer. 

"  By  the  way,  Tom,"  said  Hafly,  "  I  don't  want  to  rob 
you,  but  could  you  lend  me  a  fiver,  just  to  go  on  with  ?  " 

"  I'm  sorry,  Monty,"  said  his  friend ;  "  I  never  lend 
money." 

"  Oh,  come,  Tom,"  said  Haly.  "  Don't  be  a  swine, 
man.  I'd  lend  it  to  you  fast  enough.  I'd  not  see  a 
friend  in  want." 

"  I  know  you  wouldn't,"  said  Tom.  "  But  I  never 
lend  money." 

"  Damn  it,"  said  Haly,  lowering  his  voice  to  a  whin- 
ing reproachful  tone.  "  Well,  I  wouldn't  be  a  mean 
swine.  Lord,  man !  I  gave  you  the  office  about  Bent. 
You  might  have  a  little  gratitude.  What's  a  fiver  to 
you  ?  Don't  be  a  swine,  man.  I  wouldn't  refuse  you, 
I  know." 

Stukeley  stared  insolently  at  Haly's  blinking  eyes. 
He  seemed  to  relish  the  man's  disappointment. 


34 

"  No !  Can't  be  done,  Monty,"  he  said.  "  Have 
some  more  buttered  toast,  instead  —  with  sugar  on  it." 

Haly  had  already  eaten  plenteously  of  this  dainty; 
he  was  not  to  be  comforted  with  flagons. 

"  You  are  a  swine,"  he  said  angrily.  "  !N"ow  you're 
married,  I  suppose  you're  going  back  on  your  pals. 
You  dirty  swine.  My  God !  I  wouldn't  be  mean  like 
that.  Well,  keep  your  fiver.  But  old  Bent  shall  hear 
something.  Yes,  and  my  new  wife  shall  hear  some- 
thing. My  wife  Olivia,  Olivia." 

Stukeley  watched  his  friend  with  careless  tolerance, 
ringing  the  bell  meanwhile,  with  a  hand  stretched  idly 
behind  him.  He  laughed  lightly,  bidding  Haly  to  be 
of  good  cheer.  When  Jessie  came,  in  answer  to  the 
bell,  he  bade  his  friend  good  morning,  and  bowed  him 
out.  Haly  disappeared,  cursing. 

When  he  had  gone,  Stukeley  wondered  if  he  had  done 
wisely  in  choking  off  Haly  so  soon.  He  had  made  up 
his  mind,  during  the  months  of  his  honeymoon,  to  break 
with  his  old  circle ;  for  his  wife's  friends  were  rich  and 
powerful,  and  his  own  friends,  being  men  about  town, 
had  never  been  more  to  him  than  flash  companions. 
Besides,  he  realized  that  a  man  like  Haly  was  hardly 
likely  to  bring  him  credit  with  his  new  acquaintances. 
And  anyhow  his  headache  made  him  devilish,  and  he 
had  had  pleasure  in  seeing  the  horse-face  flush,  and  the 
little  mean  eyes  blink  with  anger.  He  did  not  set  much 
store  by  the  man's  threats.  If  old  Bent  had  come  to 
Salcombe  after  him,  he  would  see  his  victim,  whether 
Haly  helped  or  refused  to  help.  He  did  not  rightly 
know  what  he  could  say  to  old  Bent,  and  his  head  was 
throbbing  and  in  pain;  he  could  not  think.  Jessie 
returned  to  clear  away ;  but  even  Jessie  would  not  com- 
fort him,  for  missus  was  in  the  next  room  and  could 
hear  every  word. 


A  FAREWELL  35 

"  Perhaps  after  dinner/'  said  Jessie. 

Something  in  the  girl's  coyness  stirred  his  lust.  He 
caught  hold  of  her,  shutting  the  door  with  his  disengaged 
hand. 

"  You  are  a  naughty  man,"  said  Jessie  reprovingly. 

He  drew  her  head  back  and  kissed  her  lips  and  throat. 
Something  in  the  girl  amused  him  and  excited  him.  He 
was  conscious  of  a  sudden  anger  against  Olivia.  She 
needed  some  devil  of  wantonness,  he  thought.  She 
never  moved  him  as  this  tavern  trollop  moved  him. 

"  Do  you  lov'e  me  1 "  said  Jessie. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  passionately. 

"  I  seen  you  look  at  me,"  said  Jessie. 

It  had  been  love  at  first  sight.  While  they  kissed, 
Olivia's  voice  sounded  clearly  in  the  passage.  "  I'll  see 
him  in  the  breakfast-room,  with  Mr.  Stukeley." 

"  Oh  law !  "  said  Jessie,  wrenching  herself  free. 
"  Go  inside,  Mr.  Stukeley.  Don't  let's  be  seen  to- 
gether." 

"  Bent  already,"  said  Stukeley,  slipping  into  the 
inner  room. 

He  went  so  quickly  that  Jessie's  question,  "  Is  my 
hair  tidy  ?  "  was  unanswered.  As  Jessie  dabbed  at  her 
hair  before  the  mirror,  Olivia  entered.  She  thought 
that  Jessie's  heightened  colour  and  nervous  manner  were 
signs  that  she  was  ashamed  of  being  caught  at  a  glass. 
She  smiled  at  the  girl,  who  smiled  back  at  her  as  she 
hurried  to  remove  her  tray.  Had  Olivia  looked  at 
Jessie  as  she  left  the  room  with  the  table-cloth,  the 
trollop's  gaze  of  confident  contempt  would  have  puzzled 
her;  she  might,  perhaps,  have  found  it  disquieting. 

She  had  only  been  married  a  few  weeks;  and  she 
loved  her  husband  so  dearly  that  to  speak  of  him  to 
any  one,  to  an  inn-servant,  for  example,  seemed  sacri- 
legious to  her.  She  felt  this  very  strongly  at  this  mo- 


36  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

ment,  though  she  longed  to  ask  Jessie  where  her  husband 
might  be  found.  She  felt  some  slight  displeasure  at  her 
husband's  absence,  for  he  had  never  before  left  her  for 
so  long.  This  breakfast  had  been  the  first  meal  eaten 
apart  since  the  day  of  their  marriage.  When  Jessie 
had  left  the  room,  she  looked  at  her  image  in  the  mirror, 
straightening  the  laces  at  her  throat  and  smoothing  the 
heavy  hair,  one  of  her  chief  beauties.  She  loved  her 
husband.  All  other  men  were  mere  creatures  to  her  — 
creatures  with  no  splendour  of  circling  memory, 
creatures  of  dust  But  tne  announcement  that  Captain 
Margaret  was  even  then  without,  waiting  to  be  admitted, 
was  somehow  affecting.  She  felt  touched,  perhaps  a 
little  piqued.  He  had  loved  her,  still  loved  her,  she  felt. 
She  had  never  much  cared  for  him,  though  she  had 
found  a  sort  of  dreadful  pleasure  in  the  contemplation 
of  her  power  over  him.  At  the  moment,  she  felt  a 
little  pity  for  him,  and  then  a  little  pity  for  herself. 
Now  that  she  was  married,  she  thought,  she  would  be 
unattractive  to  him;  her  power  would  be  gone;  and 
as  that  was  the  first  time  the  thought  had  come  to  her, 
it  made  her  almost  sad,  as  though  she  were  parting  with 
a  beautiful  memory,  with  a  part  of  her  youth,  with  a 
part  of  her  youthful  beauty.  Her  look  into  the  glass 
was  anxious.  She  was  eager  to  look  her  best,  to  make 
the  most  of  her  pale  beauty;  for  (like  less  intelligent 
women)  she  believed  that  it  was  her  beauty  which  most 
appealed  to  him.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  the  refine- 
ment of  her  voice  which  swayed  him,  her  low  voice,  full 
of  music,  full  of  intensity,  of  which  each  note  told  of  an 
inner  grace,  of  some  beauty  of  mind  unattainable  by 
men,  but  sometimes  worshipped  by  them.  She  was  not 
a  clever  talker.  Her  power  lay  in  sympathy,  in  creating 
talk  in  others,  for  when  she  was  of  a  company  it  was 
as  though  music  were  being  played;  the  talk  showed 


A  FAKEWELL  37 

fine  feeling;  at  least,  the  talkers  went  away  delighted. 
She  had  a  little  beauty.  Her  eyes  were  beautiful;  her 
hair  was  beautiful;  but  beautiful  beyond  all  physical 
beauty  was  the  beauty  of  her  earnest  voice,  so  un- 
speakably refined  and  pure,  coming  holy  from  the  inner 
shrine. 

She  had  not  waited  a  minute,  before  Captain  Mar- 
garet entered.  She  had  expected  to  see  him  troubled, 
and  to  hear  the  ring  of  emotion  in  his  voice  as  he  greeted 
her.  She  had  half  expected  to  be  surprised  by  some 
rush  of  frantic  passion.  But  he  entered  smiling,  greet- 
ing her  with  a  laugh.  She  felt  at  once,  from  his  man- 
ner, from  his  obvious  dislike  for  her  hand,  which  he 
scarcely  touched  and  then  dropped,  an  implied  shrinking 
from  her  husband.  It  gave  her  firmness.  He  looked  at 
her  eyes  a  moment,  wondering  with  what  love  they  had 
looked  at  Stukeley  during  the  night-watches.  The 
thought  came  to  him  that  she  was  a  beautiful  soiled 
thing,  to  be  pitied  and  tenderly  reproved.  The  image 
of  Stukeley  cast  too  dark  a  shadow  for  any  brighter 
thought  of  her.  When  she  began  to  speak  she  had  him 
bound  and  helpless. 

"  Well,  Olivia,"  he  said  gaily,  "  I'm  glad  I  came  in 
time  to  catch  you." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  we  were  just  going.  We 

have  been And  how  did  you  come  here  ?  "  She 

found  it  harder  to  talk  to  him  than  she  had  expected. 

"  I  came  here  in  my  ship,"  he  answered.  "  I  wanted 
to  see  you,  to  wish  you,  to  hope  —  to  wish  you  all  happi- 
ness. Before  I  leave  England." 

She  smiled. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  she  said.  "  Are  you  leav- 
ing England  for  long  ?  " 

"  It  may  be  a  long  time.  If  all  goes  well,  it  will  be  a 
very  long  time." 


88  CAPTAIN  MAKGAEET 

"  I  had  not  heard  that  you  were  going  abroad.  To 
what  part  are  you  going  ?  Italy  again  ?  " 

"  No.  I'm  going  to  Darien."  It  seemed  to  him  to 
be  almost  tragical  that  she  really  did  not  know  where 
Darien  lay.  "  The  Spanish  Main,"  he  added. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  she  said. 

He  covered  her  retreat  by  saying  that  he  was  going 
to  Virginia  first.  She  looked  at  him  with  quickened  in- 
terest. 

"  Going  in  your  ship,"  she  said.  "  That  sounds  very 
grand.  Is  she  in  Salcombe  here  ?  Which  is  she  among 
all  those  schooners  ?  " 

"  That  one,"  he  answered,  pointing  through  the  win- 
dow. "  The  ship  with  the  flag." 

"  And  you're  leaving  England  at  once  ?  " 

"  Yes.     This  afternoon's  tide." 

"  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  when  you  get  there  ?  " 

"  Oh,  don't  let's  talk  about  that,"  he  answered. 
"  Tell  me  about  yourself,  and  your  plans.  What  are 
you  going  to  do,  now  you're  leaving  Salcombe?  Will 
you  go  home  to  Flaxley  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered,  colouring  slightly.  "  Uncle 
Nestor  was  rather  rude  to  Tom,  to  my  husband." 

The  captain  bit  his  lip,  and  gazed  out  absently  over 
the  sea.  He  had  heard  why  Uncle  Nestor  had  been 
rude.  The  knowledge  made  him  doubtful  of  Olivia's 
future  happiness. 

"  So  I  suppose  you'll  go  back  to  town,"  he  answered, 
"  and  settle  down.  What  do  married  people  do,  when 
they  settle  down  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  I've  great  schemes  for  Tom.  He's 
going  to  stand  for  Parliament.  But  I  want  to  know 
what  you're  going  to  do  in  Darien.  What  is  your 
scheme  ? " 

"  Just  to  help  the  Indians,"  he  answered.     "  The 


A  FAREWELL  39 

Spaniards  have  robbed  them  and  ill-treated  them,  and 
I  thought  that  if  some  Englishmen  settled  on  the 
Isthmus,  and  opened  up  a  trade  with  them.  For  you 
see,  we  could  trade  with  both  Jamaica  and  Virginia. 
And  if  we  opened  up  a  trade  there,  we  could  check  the 
Spanish  power  there,  making  the  Indians  our  allies." 

"  And  what  would  you  trade  for,  or  with  ?  It  sounds 
very  romantic." 

"  The  country  is  very  rich  in  gold.  Gold  is  found  in 
all  the  rivers.  But  of  course  the  gold  is  not  to  be  our 
aim.  I  w'ant,  really,  to  found  an  English  colony;  or 
a  colony  of  workers,  at  any  rate.  The  Spanish  colony 
is  just  a  press,  which  squeezes  the  land.  Now  the  land 
ought,  in  a  sense,  to  squeeze  the  colonists.  It  ought  to 
bring  out  all  their  virtues.  That  is  what  I  want.  The 
country  will  have  to  be  cleared.  And  then  we  shall 

plant  cacao,  or  whatever  the  land  is  fit  for,  and 

The  scheme  is  thought  out,  in  detail.  I'm  confident; 
but  I  won't  talk  about  it." 

"  And  the  Indians  will  be  your  allies  ?  "  repeated 
Olivia ;  "  and  the  Spaniards  will  probably  fight  you  ? " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  "  And  you  will  be  in  a  town- 
house  in  London,  going  to  the  play,  or  dancing  at  a 
ball,  in  grey  silk." 

"  Blue,  or  grey." 

"  And  you  will  give  sprigs  of  verbena  to  those  who 
see  over  your  garden  in  the  country." 

"  And  when  will  you  come  for  some  ?  " 

"  Ah !  I  shan't  see  that  garden  again,  for  a  long, 
long  time." 

"  We're  going  to  plant  all  sorts  of  things,  when  we  get 
home.  You  must  send  some  roots  from  Darien." 

"  I  should  like  to  do  that.  We  have  been  such  — 
such  friends." 

"  In  the  old  days." 


40  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  rising.     "  Now  I  must  be  off." 

"  Oh,  but  you  ought  not  to  go  yet." 

"  I  only  just  came  ashore  to  see  you." 

"  Oh,  you  must  stay  to  see  my  husband.  He  wants 
to  see  you.  He'll  be  so  disappointed  if  you  don't  stay 
to  see  him." 

"  You  must  make  my  apologies.     Good-bye,  Olivia." 

She  held  out  her  hand  without  emotion  of  any  kind. 
She  would  have  shaken  hands  with  any  other  acquaint- 
ance with  just  so  little  feeling.  Margaret  wondered 
what  it  was  that  would  get  within  her  guard.  He  took 
her  hand.  He  tried  hard  to  say  no  more,  but  failed, 
being  sorely  tempted. 

"  God  bless  you,"  he  said.  "  I  hope  you  will  be 
very,  very  happy.  God  bless  you,  dear.  I  wonder  if 
I  shall  hear  of  you  ever.  Or  see  you  again." 

"  If  you  want  to,  you  will,"  she  said  simply,  glad 
that  it  had  gone  no  further. 

"  Yes,  I  shall  see  you  again,"  he  said. 

"  Of  course  you  will,"  she  answered.  "  I  hope  your 
colony  will  be  a  success." 

Something  in  her  voice  made  the  conventional  words 
beautiful.  Captain  Stukeley,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
door,  hearing  that  quality  in  his  wife's  voice,  wished 
that  the  keyhole  were  bigger.  With  an  effort,  Captain 
Margaret  rewarded  that  moving  tone. 

"  When  I  come  back,"  he  said,  "  I  hope  that  I  shall 
get  to  know  your  husband.  Make  my  apologies  to  him." 

"  Good-bye  again,"  she  said. 

Her  voice  seemed  to  come  from  her  whole  nature. 
All  that  her  lover  could  remember  afterwards  was  the 
timbre  of  the  voice;  he  had  no  memory  of  her  face. 
Her  eyes  he  remembered,  and  her  heavy  antique  ear- 
rings. "  Eyes,  ear-rings,  and  a  voice,"  he  repeated, 
walking  down  to  the  jetty.  He  wondered  what  she  was. 


A  FAREWELL  41 

"  What  is  she  ?  What  is  she  ?  Oh  Lord,  what  is  she  ?  " 
He  could  not  answer  it.  She  was  beautiful.  Most 
beautiful.  Beautiful  enough  to  drive  him  mad.  Her 
beauty  was  not  a  bodily  accident ;  but  a  quality  of  soul, 
the  quality  of  her  nature,  her  soul  made  visible.  But 
what  was  she  ?  She  had  talked  commonly,  convention- 
ally. She  had  said  no  wise  thing,  no  moving  thing. 
Never  once  had  she  revealed  herself ;  she  was  only  kind, 
fond  of  flowers,  fond  of  music,  a  lover  of  little  children. 
But  oh,  she  was  beyond  all  beauty,  that  dark,  graceful 
lady  with  the  antique  ear-rings.  It  was  her  voice. 
Any  conventional,  common  word  her  voice  made  beauti- 
ful. He  wondered  if  she  were,  after  all,  divine;  for 
if  she  were  not  divine,  how  came  it  that  her  voice  had 
that  effect,  that  power?  He  felt  that  human  beings 
were  all  manifestations  of  a  divine  purpose.  Perhaps 
that  lovely  woman  was  an  idea,  an  idea  of  refinement,  of 
dejicate,  exquisite,  right  grace,  clothed  in  fitting  flesh, 
walking  the  world  with  heavenly  intention.  But  if  that 
were  so,  how  the  devil  came  Stukeley  there,  that  was  the 
puzzle  ?  The  blood  came  into  that  pale  face  sometimes ; 
and  oh,  the  way  she  turned,  the  way  she  looked,  the  way 
of  that  voice,  so  thrilling,  so  infinitely  beautiful.  Ah 
well;  he  had  played  and  lost,  and  there  was  his  ship 
with  her  flag  flying ;  he  was  bound  down  and  away 

Along  the  coast  of  New  Barbary. 

But  he  had  loved  her,  he  had  seen  her,  he  had  been 
filled  with  her  beauty  as  a  cup  with  wine.  He  would 
carry  her  memory  into  the  waste  places  of  the  world. 
Perhaps  in  the  new  Athens,  over  yonder,  among  the 
magnolia  bloom,  and  the  smell  of  logwood  blossom,  he 
would  make  her  memory  immortal  in  some  poem,  some 
tragedy,  something  to  be  chanted  by  many  v6ice"s,  amid 
the  burning  of  precious  gums,  and  the  hush  of  the 


42 

theatre.  On  the  way,  he  stopped,  thinking  of  her  per- 
sonal tastes.  He,  too,  would  have  those  tastes.  Little 
things  for  which  she  cared  should  come  with  him  to  the 
Main.  He  gave  the  merchant  the  impression  that  he 
was  dealing  with  one  melancholy  mad. 

Drums  sounded  in  the  street,  for  troops  were  march- 
ing west,  to  a  rousing  quick-step.  They  marched  well, 
with  their  heads  held  firm  in  their  stocks.  The  ser- 
geants strutted  by  them,  handling  their  halberds.  Cap- 
tain Margaret  paused  to  watch  them,  just  as  a  sailor 
will  stop  to  watch  a  ship.  "  They  are  like  the  world," 
he  thought.  "  The  men  drop  out,  but  the  regiment  re- 
mains. It  still  follows  the  rags  on  the  broomstick,  and 
a  fool  commands  it,  and  a  halberd  drills  it,  and  women 
and  children  think  it  a  marvellous  fine  thing.  Well,  so 
be  it.  I've  bought  my  discharge."  The  fifes  and 
drums  passed  out  of  hearing.  "  They'll  never  come 
back,"  he  said  to  himself.  "Perhaps  twenty  years 
hence  I  shall  meet  one  of  those  men,  and  be  friends  with 
him.  Why  not  now  ?  And  why  should  I  see  that  regi- 
ment now  ?  What  does  it  mean  ?  It  is  a  symbol.  All 
events  are  symbols.  What  does  it  mean?  What  is  it 
a  symbol  of?  Why  should  that  regiment  pass  to-day, 
now,  after  I've  bidden  my  love  good-bye?  And  what 
ought  I  to  learn  from  it  ?  What  message  has  it  for  me  ? 
He  was  convinced  that  it  had  a  message.  He  stood  still, 
looking  down  the  road,  vacant  as  a  British  statue. 

He  woke  up  with  a  start,  remembering  that  he  had 
to  buy  some  materials  for  the  practice  of  one  of  his 
amusing  handicrafts.  A  little  gold,  some  silver,  and  a 
few  stones  of  small  value,  together  with  glass  beads, 
were  all  that  he  needed.  He  was  planning  to  make 
jewels  for  the  Indian  princesses.  "  Beads  is  what  they 
goes  for,"  so  Cammock  had  said.  He  bought  large 
stores  of  beads.  He  also  bought  materials  for  a  jewel 


A  FAREWELL  43 

for  Olivia,  thinking,  as  he  examined  the  gems,  of  the 
letter  he  would  send  with  the  gift.  "  It  will  be  written 
under  palm-thatch,"  he  thought,  "  in  the  rains."  He 
was  able  to  plan  the  jewel  in  all  its  detail.  People 
stared  at  him  with  curiosity.  He  was  speaking  aloud 
as  he  walked.  "  Nothing  matters  very  much  to  me,"  he 
said.  "  I  know  the  meaning  of  life.  Life  and  death  are 
the  same  to  me."-  So  saying  he  arrived  upon  the  jetty, 
and  hailed  his  boat,  which  lay  at  a  little  distance,  her 
oarsmen  playing  dice  in  the  stern-sheets.  His  pur- 
chases were  stowed  between  the  thwarts,  a  few  grocer's 
boxes  made  an  obelisk  in  the  bows.  As  they  shoved  off, 
there  came  a  flash  of  fire  from  the  side  of  the  Broken 
Heart.  White  smoke-rings  floated  up  and  away,  over 
her  topgallant-masts.  Grey  smoke  clung  and  drifted 
along  the  sea.  The  roar  of  the  cannon  made  the  Sal- 
combe  windows  rattle.  The  boat's  crew  grinned.  Be- 
ing boatmen,  they  had  escaped  the  gun-drill.  They 
knew  what  all  hands  were  getting  from  the  stalwart 
Oammock. 

He  stepped  quickly  up  the  side,  acknowledging  Cam- 
mock's  salute  and  the  pipe  of  the  boatswain.  Perrin 
met  him  at  the  break  of  the  poop.  He  noticed  that 
Perrin  stared  rather  hard  at  him.  He  grinned  at  Per- 
rin cheerfully. 

"  Yes,  I  saw  her,"  he  said  gaily. 

It  seemed  to  Perrin  that  his  gaiety  was  natural,  and 
that,  perhaps,  the  sight  of  Mrs.  Stukeley,  with  her  hus- 
band, had  proved  an  effective  cure.  A  gun's  crew 
swayed  the  gear  out  of  the  boat.  The  other  guns' 
crews,  heaving  the  heavy  trucks,  training  the  guns  for- 
ward, wished  that  they  might  help.  Captain  Cammock 
resumed  his  drill. 

"  Starboard  battery,  on  the  bow !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  Port  battery,  upon  the  beam.  Imagine  them  hulks. 


44  CAPTAIN  MAEGARET 

Them's  tlie  enemy.  Bring  aft  your  train  tackles.  No. 
No.  Oh,  what  are  you  playing  at  ?  Drop  them  blocks. 
What  in  hell  are  you  thinking,  of  there,  number  three  ? 
I'm  not  talking  to  you,  port  battery.  JSTow.  Wait  for 
the  word  of  command.  Take  heed.  Silence.  Silence 
there.  Now.  Cast  off  the  tackles  and  breechings. 
Carry  on." 

The  figures  by  the  guns  became  active.  Though  they 
carried  on  "  in  silence,"  there  was  a  good  deal  of  noise, 
many  muttered  oaths,  much  angry  dropping  of  ram- 
mers. Captain  Margaret  stood  by  Cammock,  waiting 
till  the  guns  were  fired.  He  had  learned  the  practical 
part  of  naval  gunnery  from  a  book  in  Cammock's  cabin, 
The  Mariner's  Friend,  or  Compleat  Sea  Gunner's  Vade 
Mecum.  He  watched  the  drill  wearily,  knowing  how 
hard  and  dull  a  thing  it  was  to  the  men  who  swayed 
the  tackles,  and  hove  the  trucks  along  with  crows.  In 
the  moment  of  peace  after  the  broadsides,  he  felt  a 
pity  for  his  men,  a  pity  for  humanity.  He  had  hired 
these  men  at  four  shillings  a  week  apiece.  He  gave 
them  their  food,  worth,  perhaps,  tenpence  a  day,  with 
their  rum  worth  twopence  more,  bought  wholesale,  out 
of  bond.  "  For  eleven  shillings  a  week,"  he  thought, 
"  a  man  will  clog  his  heavenly  soul  with  gun-drill, 
which  his  soul  loathes;  and  refrain  from  drabs  and 
drams,  which  his  soul  hungers  and  thirsts  for."  He 
felt  ashamed  that  he  had  not  thought  more  of  his  men's 
comfort. 

"  You've  got  them  into  shape  already,  captain,"  he 
said. 

"  I'll  get  them  into  trim  in  time,"  answered  Cam- 
mock.  "  It  takes  time." 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret,  "  it  takes  time."  He  paused 
a  moment,  remembered  his  kindly  feeling,  and  con- 
tinued. "  I  want  to  ask  you  about  fresh  meat,  cap- 


A  FAREWELL  45 

tain.  Shall  I  get  some  fresh  meat  here,  to  see  us  well 
into  the  Western  Ocean  ?  Or  flour,  now  ?  I  want  the 
hands  kept  in  good  trim.  I  don't  want  to  lose  any  by 
sickness." 

"  Fresh  meat  is  always  good  at  sea,"  said  Cammock. 
"  But  there's  better  things  than  meat.  For  keeping  a 
crew  in  good  shape,  you  can't  beat  sugar  and  flour.  It 
takes  the  salt  out  of  their  bones." 

Perrin  had  joined  them.  "  I've  ordered  fresh  meat 
and  sugar,"  he  said.  "  And  three  dozen  fowls.  They'll 
be  off  in  about  an  hour's  time." 

"  You  oughtn't  to  have  done  that,"  said  Margaret. 

"  I  paid  for  them  myself,"  he  answered.  "  There 
they  come." 

Captain  Cammock  secured  his '  guns,  returned  his 
powder,  and  piped  the  boat  to  be  cleared.  The  hen- 
coop was  lashed  down  for  a  full  due  below  the  break  of 
the  poop.  After  the  meat  had  been  hung  in  the  har- 
ness-room, the  hands  went  forward  to  loaf  and  stand-by. 
The  two  friends  walked  the  poop  with  Cammock,  ten 
paces  and  a  turn,  talking  of  old  times,  and  of  the  fortune 
of  the  sea. 

They  were  waiting  for  the  ebb-tide  to  take  them  out. 
The  wind  was  fair,  but  light;  they  needed  the  ebb. 
Waiting  like  that  is  always  a  weariness.  Captain  Mar- 
garet wished  that  he  had  never  put  in  to  Salcombe.  He 
was  a  fool,  he  thought.  The  thing  was  over,  the  wound 
was  closed.  He  had  begun  it  anew ;  reopened  it.  Now 
he  had  to  apply  the  cautery.  If  he  had  held  his  course, 
his  ship  would  have  been  out  of  sight  of  land,  going  on, 
under  all  sail,  forty  miles  south-west  from  Scilly,  bring- 
ing him  nearer  to  content  at  each  wave,  each  bubble. 
He  felt  also  the  discontent  of  the  tide-bound  sailor.  He 
felt  that  he  was  at  liberty  wrongfully ;  that  it  was  wrong 
for  him  to  be  there,  doing  nothing,  merely  because  the 


46  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

tide  still  flowed.  Perrin,  though  he  was  eager  to  talk 
to  his  friend  about  the  results  of  the  farewell  call,  was 
bored  to  death  by  the  inaction,  by  the  sudden  stoppage 
of  the  routine.  As  for  Cammock,  he  smoked  his  pipe, 
and  looked  out  to  windward,  wondering  inwardly  at  the 
strangeness  of  gentlemen.  Thinking  that  they  were 
hipped,  he  told  them  his  favourite  tale  of  how  the  cow 
came  at  him  one  time^  when  he  was  hunting  for  beef 
near  One  Bush  Key.  It  was  an  exciting  story;  but 
nothing,  he  said,  to  what  "  happened  him "  one  time 
when  he  was  loading  live  steers  at  Negril,  after  the 
cattle  pest  at  Antigua. 

"  So  I  got  into  one  of  the  shore-boats,"  he  concluded. 
"  I'd  had  enough  of  them  great  horns  a  yard  long." 

"  Every  man  to  his  trade,"  said  Perrin  curtly. 

Captain  Margaret  asked  if  the  long-horns  were  bred 
from  imported  stock.  Cammock  had  expected  them  to 
laugh.  The  situation  was  saved  by  the  entrance  of  a 
sixth-rate,  under  all  plain  sail,  on  the  last  of  the  flood. 
Her  blue  sides  were  gay  with  gold  leaf;  her  colours 
streamed  out  astern ;  she  broke  the  water  to  a  sparkle. 
In  her  main-chains  stood  a  leadsman  crying  his  melan- 
choly cry  of  "  And  a  half,  three,"  which  another  voice 
repeated  harshly.  Though  she  came  quietly  she  came 
swiftly;  for  the  flood  had  strength.  She  was  a  lovely 
thing,  swaying  in  there  softly.  The  Broken  Heart  sa- 
luted her.  The  friends  watched  her  as  she  passed. 
Cammock  saw  his  opportunity.  He  turned  to  his  com- 
panions. 

"  What  d'ye  make  of  her  ?  "  he  asked  them. 

Perrin  called  her  "a  man-of-war";  Margaret  "a 
beautiful  thing." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  make  of  her,"  said  Cammock. 
"  She  was  built  in  France,  that's  easy  seen,  and  she 
was  bought  or  taken  at  least  three  years  back.  She 


A  FAREWELL  4Y 

was  re-masted  at  Deptford,  and  her  captain  thinks  the 
masting's  spoiled  her.  She's  been  in  the  West  Indies 
within  a  year,  and  there  she'd  a  pile  of  hard  times.  Lost 
her  topmasts  for  one  of  them.  Then  she  came  home, 
and  took  a  big  nob  of  some  sort  up  the  Mediterranean, 
for  political  reasons,  and  in  a  hurry,  with  a  scratch  crew. 
She's  made  a  quick  passage,  and  the  captain's  cabin  is 
taken  up  with  ladies,  probably  one  big  sort  of  a  duchess 
or  that.  The  Government  is  short  of  funds,  and  the 
wind's  going  to  draw  more  westerly.  Her  lieutenant  is 
a  Devonshire  man.  And  I  bet  I  know  her  captain's 
name  and  what  her  hands  think  of  him.  That's  what 
I  make  of  her." 

"  How  d'you  know  all  that  ?  "  said  Perrin. 

"Every  man^o  his  trade,"  said  Cammock.  He  felt 
that  he  had  retrieved  the  honour  lost  over  the  cows. 

At  this  moment  four  bells  were  made;  the  cabin 
steward  rang  them  to  the  cabin  supper. 

They  found  the  table  heaped  with  dainties ;  for  Per- 
rin and  Cammock  had  foraged  ashore  together,  so  that 
the  last  night  in  port  might  be  merry.  Punch,  straw- 
berries, and  a  pigeon-pie.  Captain  Margaret  proposed 
the  conundrum,  why  strawberries  would  be  considered 
flippant  among  the  bakemeats  at  a  funeral  dinner. 
Captain  Cammock  gorged  the  conundrum,  hook  and  all. 


Ill 

OUTWAUDS 

"  And  we  are  bound  to  New  Barbary 
With  all  our  whole  ship's  company." 

Captain  Glen. 

"I  have  a  vessel  riding  forth,  gentlemen, 
And  I  can  tell  you  she  carries  a  letter  of  mart. 
What  say  you  now  to  make  you  all  adventurers? 
You  shall  have  fair  dealing,  that  I'll  promise  you." 

A  Cure  for  a  Cuckold. 

AFTER  supper,  the  party  went  on  deck  again,  to 
see  the  last  of  their  country.  The  two  mates, 
who  had  their  cabins  in  the  after  'tween-decks, 
where  they  messed,  had  made  all  ready  for  getting 
under  way.  The  hands  walked  to  and  fro  about  the 
fo'c's'le,  waiting  for  the  order.  The  last  bum-boat  had 
shoved  off  for  the  shore,  having  sold  her  last  onion  and 
last  box  of  red  herrings.  Snatches  of  song  came  aft  to 
the  poop.  It  was  slack  water;  the  sea  seemed  to  be 
marking  time.  Already,  further  up  the  harbour,  a 
schooner  had  swung  athwart  the  stream.  One  or  tw*> 
boats  were  hoisting  their  foresails,  ready  to  catch  the 
first  ebb.  The  sun  was  still  strong  in  the  heavens; 
there  was  more  than  an  hour  of  day  to  come. 

"  We  may  as  well  up  hook,"  said  Cammock,  "  if 
you'll  say  the  word,  sir." 

"  All  ready,  captain,"  said  Margaret.     "  We'll  go  as 
soon  as  you  like." 

"  Right,"   said   Cammock,   bustling  forward  to  the 
poop-rail.     "  Hands  up  anchor,  bosum." 

48 


OUTWARDS  49 

The  boatswain's  pipe  made  the  call.  The  fo'c's'le 
was  thronged  with  hurrying  sailors.  The  trumpeter  at 
the  gangway  blew  a  flourish,  and  sounded  his  "  Loath 
to  depart."  The  men  cheered  as  the  bars  were  shipped. 
The  waisters  tended  on  the  messenger  with  their  nip- 
pers. Slowly  the  pawls  began  to  click  as  the  men 
strained  round,  heaving  on  tiptoe.  The  two  capstans 
hove  in,  moving  the  cable.  All  down  the  'tween-decks 
rang  the  snapping  creak  of  a  cable  at  a  shaking  strain. 
Some  one  at  one  of  the  bars,  down  in  the  half-dark- 
ness, began  to  sing.  The  crowd  made  chorus  together, 
lifting  the  tune.  Voice  after  voice  joined  in.  Bar 
after  bar  sounded  and  shouted.  The  ship  rang  with 
song.  The  music  of  the  tune  floated  out  over  the  har- 
bour. In  the  sixth-rate,  the  men  joined  in,  till  the 
whole  crew  were  singing.  Ashore  they  heard  it.  In 
the  schooners  at  anchor,  in  the  inns  ashore,  in  the 
dance-house  up  the  town,  the  music  made  echo,  stirring 
the  heart.  As  the  light  wind  moved  or  failed,  so  died 
the  tune  or  lifted.  With  a  great  sweep  it  rose  up,  tow- 
ering on  many  voices,  then  drooped  to  the  solo,  to  soar 
again  when  the  men  sang.  They  were  singing  that 
they  would  go  no  more  a-roving.  To  Margaret  and 
Perrin,  standing  there  at  the  poop-rail,  hearkening  to 
them,  much  moved  by  the  splendour  of  the  song,  the 
coarse  old  words  seemed  touching,  infinitely  sad,  the 
whole  of  sea-life  set  to  music. 

Now  they  were  moving  slowly,  making  the  water  talk. 
Their  spritsail  was  set.  Hands  were  aloft  loosing  the 
topsails.  On  the  fo'c's'le  head  the  mate  bustled,  look- 
ing over  the  rail.  Very  slowly  the  ship  moved;  but 
now,  as  she  left  her  berth,  heading  for  the  narrows,  past 
the  breakers,  where  Ram  Rock  gleamed  in  his  smother, 
the  song  at  the  capstan  ceased.  On  deck,  a  watch 
gathered  at  the  halliards.  The  foretopsail  jolted  up  to 


50  CAPTAIN  MAEGAEET 

the  song  of  "  Lowlands."  Sail  was  being  made. 
Voices  from  aloft  gave  notice  to  hoist  away.  In  the 
bustle  and  confusion,  with  coils  of  rope  rattling  down, 
men  running  here  and  there,  getting  pulls  of  this  and 
that,  and  the  noise  of  the  sails  slatting,  the  two  friends 
walked  the  poop,  looking  back  at  the  sixth-rate,  dipping 
their  ensign  to  her.  Cammock  had  come  aft,  and  was 
standing  by  them,  looking  aloft  at  the  boy  on  the  main- 
topgallantyard.  He  spun  round  suddenly,  hearing  a  hail 
from  the  man-of-war. 

"  Hullo !  "  he  shouted ;  adding,  under  his  breath, 
"  Lord,  she's  going  to  press  us." 

He  darted  to  the  bulwark,  and  shouted  "  Hullo !  " 
again.  He  saw  the  mate  of  the  watch,  in  a  dirty  old 
tarred  coat,  walking  her  weather  gangway,  where  a 
soldier  stood  at  attention  in  old  red  regimentals. 

The  mate  of  the  watch  did  not  speak  to  them.  He 
merely  lifted  his  hand  to  Cammock,  and  pointed  to- 
wards the  jetty. 

"  A  boat  for  us,"  said  Perrin. 

"  Very  much  obliged  to  you,  sir,"  cried  Cammock  to 
the  mate  of  the  watch. 

"  Lend  me  your  glass,  Captain  Cammock,"  said  Mar- 
garet uneasily. 

He  seized  the  glass  hastily,  and  looked  at  the 
advancing  boat.  She  was  rowing  rapidly  towards 
them. 

"  Who  the  devil  can  it  be  ? "  said  Perrin,  as  he 
watched  Cammock  bring  the  ship  to  the  wind.  "  Lord, 
captain,"  he  said,  with  real  anger.  "  It's  that  woman 
with  her  husband." 

"  It's  a  lady,  that's  plain,"  said  Cammock.  "  And 
they're  in  a  hurry.  The  man's  double-banking  the 
stroke  oar." 

"  They've  got  a  lot  of  gear  in  the  boat,"  said  Perrin. 


OUTWARDS  51 

"  Presents,  I  guess,"  said  Cammock.  "  A  present  of 
fowls  and  that.  Or  a  case  or  two  of  bottles." 

Captain  Margaret  flushed,  walked  up  and  down  un- 
easily, and  called  to  the  steward  to  open  wine. 

"  There's  something  queer,"  said  Cammock  to  Perrin. 
"  Hark  at  all  them  shouts.  Gad,  sir,  I  believe  they're 
being  chased.  There's  two  shore  boats  after  them. 
Ain't  they  smoking,  hey  ?  " 

Indeed,  the  pursuing  boats  were  being  pulled  furi- 
ously ;  their  oars  were  bending. 

"  What  in  James  is  the  rally  ?  "  said  Cammock.  "  Is 
Captain  Margaret  made  King  of  England  or  any- 
thing?" 

Perrin  looked  at  Cammock  with  a  flush  upon  his 
face. 

"  Captain  Cammock,"  he  said,  "  they're  coming 
aboard  us.  They're  being  chased.  I  bet  they're  flying 
from  their  creditors." 

"  Lord,"  said  Cammock. 

He  watched  the  chase  with  deeper  interest.  Captain 
Margaret  joined  them. 

"  Charles,"  said  Perrin,  "  they've  come  to  beg  a  pas- 
sage. Stukeley's  being  chased  by  creditors.  Man,  for 
heaven's  sake  don't  take  them  in.  Don't,  man." 

"  What  nonsense,"  said  Margaret.  "  Have  you  never 
seen  these  boatman  race  before  ?  " 

Cammock  spoke.  "  I  suppose  you  want  me  to  pick 
them  up,  sir  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Margaret. 
.  "  Very  good,  sir,"  he  answered. 

He  looked  at  the  hurrying  boats.  Cries  came  from 
the  pursuers.  Men  and  women  were  running  down  the 
steps  to  the  pier,  now  black  with  people,  excited,  shout- 
ing people.  Olivia  and  Stukeley  were  now  almost  with- 
in fifty  yards.  Stukeley  was  standing  in  the  stern- 


52  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

sheets,  double-banking  the  stroke  with  all  his  strength. 

"  There,  sir,"  said  Cammock.  "  Did  you  hear  that, 
sir?  Those  fellows  in  the  cutter  are  singing  out  to 
them  to  stop.  There.  They're  going  to  fire." 

Captain  Margaret  muttered  something;  his  face 
flushed  suddenly,  and  then  became  pale.  A  gun  was 
fired  from  the  cutter. 

"  Firing  overhead,"  said  Cammock  absently. 

"  Captain  Cammock,"  cried  Margaret,  "  lively  now ; 
get  her  off  to  her  course." 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir,"  he  cried. 

He  sprang  to  the  helm,  shouting  his  orders.  He 
was  back  in  a  moment. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  as  the  ship  paid  off. 
"  Are  you  not  going  to  pick  them  up  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  am,"  said  Margaret. 

"  And  the  other  boats,  too,  sir  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered.     "  Not  yet  anyhow." 

A  hail  came  from  the  pursuing  boats.  "  Ship  ahoy ! 
Stop  those  persons  on  your  peril." 

"  King's  officers,  sir,"  said  Cammock.  "  They're 
fugitives  from  the  law.  It's  transportation  to  receive 
fugitives,  sir." 

Two  more  guns  were  fired  in  quick  succession;  a 
bullet  from  one  of  them  struck  the  bends  of  the  Broken 
Heart. 

"  Arrest  those  fugitives.  In  the  name  of  the  King," ' 
came  the  shout  of  a  man  in  the  cutter. 

The  words  were  clear  enough.  All  that  Margaret 
saw  was  Olivia's  face,  laughing  and  happy,  her  great 
eyes  bright,  as  the  boat  swept  alongside. 

"  It's  a  hanging  matter,  Charles,"  said  Perrin,  biting 
his  thumbs  till  the  blood  came. 

"  I  don't  care  if  they  hang  me  fifty  times,"  said  Mar- 
garet. "  They  fired  at  her." 


OUTWAKDS  53 

"  Oh,  all  right.  All  right,"  said  Pen-in  resignedly. 
"  "Now  we're  in  for  trouble,"  he  added  angrily.  "  Oh, 
damn  it.  Damn  it.  I  knew  how  it  would  be." 

"  Hands  clear  boat,"  said  Cammock  to  the  boatswain. 

Olivia  and  Stukeley  tripped  up  the  gangway  to  the 
quarter-deck. 

Margaret  greeted  them;  but  Stukeley  pushed  past 
him  to  Cammock  and  Perrin. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  drawing  them  aside.  "  We're 
coming  with  you.  I'm  wanted.  And  I'm  coming  with 
you.  She  thinks  I'm  coming  to  help  —  to  help  the  In- 
dians." He  seemed  to  choke  with  laughter.  He  was 
out  of  breath  from  rowing. 

Cammock  did  not  answer,  but  walked  to  the  rail, 
and  called  to  the  boatmen  in  the  boat.  "  Hook  on  these 
boxes  lively  now,"  he  said.  "  You'd  best  come  aboard, 
all  four  of  you,  unless  you  want  a  taste  of  gaol." 

Two  of  the  men  hooked  on  the  trunks  in  one  sling; 
the  other  two  cast  off  the  boat  and  dropped  astern,  as 
the  tackle  swept  the  trunks  over  the  side.  It  was  all 
done  in  a  moment. 

Perrin  found  himself  with  Stukeley,  who  was  talk- 
ing. "  She  must  never  know  it,"  he  was  saying,  be- 
tween gasps.  "  Oh,  Lord,  what  a  joke,  eh  ?  "  Perrin 
heard  him  absently,  for  his  ears  were  straining  to  hear 
what  his  friend  said  to  Olivia.  There  she  was,  flushed 
with  the  race,  swaying  a  little  as  the  ship  swayed.  He 
heard  the  words,  "  We  beat  them,"  and  saw  her  go  to 
the  rail  to  watch  the  pursuing  boats.  Perrin  took  off 
his  hat,  advanced  to  her,  and  bade  her  welcome.  He 
could  have  hurled  her  overboard  willingly.  His  reason 
for  advancing  was  to  see  what  the  pursuing  boats  were 
doing. 

"  It  was  such  a  race,"  said  Olivia.  "  But  we  beat 
them.  They  chased  us  all  the  way  from  Halwell.  It 


54 

was  such  fun."  She  talked  on  excitedly;  Perrin  had 
never  seen  her  so  radiant.  She  was  delighted  to  be  on 
board,  going  to  the  New  World,  in  a  real  ship.  And 
then  the  suddenness  of  it,  and  the  rush  of  the  boat- 
race. 

As  for  the  boats,  one  of  them,  the  cutter,  was  a 
hundred  yards  or  more  astern,  pulling  hard  upon  their 
quarter.  The  other  was  rowing  up  alongside  the  sixth- 
rate.  Perrin  saw  a  man  in  a  red  coat  waving  a  paper 
from  her  sternsheets.  The  man-of-war's  deck  was  full 
of  men,  who  had  crowded  to  the  side  to  watch.  Cam- 
mock  was  hurrying  his  hands.  His  maintopsail  and 
topgallantsail  were  mastheaded  together,  to  songs  which 
made  Olivia  hasten  to  the  poop-rail  to  hearken.  Loud 
was  the  jolly  chorus.  The  ship  felt  the  sail.  Bubbles 
burst  brightly  over  the  trailing  anchor-flakes.  Old 
Harry  beacon  drove  by,  rolling  in  the  wash  they  made. 
Cammock  walked  aft  hurriedly  to  take  a  bearing.  He 
noticed  then  for  the  first  time  that  the  cutter  which 
had  fired  on  them  was  the  red  cutter  of  the  man-of-war. 
He  could  now  see  her  broadside.  Her  men  fired  no 
more.  They  were  stepping  the  mast,  while  two  of 
them  kept  way  upon  her.  "  We're  in  for  it  now,"  he 
thought.  He  let  his  helmsman  feel  that  it  would  not 
do  to  glance  astern. 

"  You  mind  your  eye,"  he  said  fiercely.  He  took 
an  anxious  glance  at  the  Wolf  Rock,  and  at  the  top- 
pling seas  on  the  Blackstone.  "  I  never  saw  a  beastlier 
place,"  he  said.  "  Haul  in  there,  leadsman,"  he 
shouted.  "  Another  cast,  now." 

The  ship  seemed  to  pause  a  moment,  like  a  bird 
suddenly  stricken  with  the  palsy.  A  kind  of  death 
seemed  to  lay  hold  of  her,  checking  all  on  board.  She 
dragged  a  moment,  and  then  drove  on,  muddying  the 
sea.  She  had  touched  Eipple  Sands. 


OUTWARDS  55 

"  My  God,  we're  done  if  you.  stick,"  said  Cammock. 
"  And  here's  Splat  Point  and  the  Bass." 

He  bent  over  the  binnacle ;  Stukeley  came  to  him. 

"  Hello,  captain,"  he  began.  "  My  old  sea-dog. 
Eh  ?  Where  can  I  get  a  spot  of  brandy  ?  Eh  ?  " 

Cammock  took  his  cross-bearing  without  answering. 
Then  he  looked  steadily  at  the  harbour-mouth,  and  at 
the  curved  white  line  of  the  bar.  He  bade  his  helms- 
man "  come  to  "  a  point.  He  conned  the  ship,  ordered 
a  small  pull  of  a  sheet,  and  glanced  astern  at  the  man- 
of-war. 

Stukeley  repeated  his  question.  "  Where  can  I  get 
a  spot  of  brandy  ?  Eh  ?  " 

Cammock  glanced  at  him  for  a  second.  "  Lots  of 
dirty  pubs  ashore  there,"  he  said  coldly.  He  turned 
to  look  again  at  the  man-of-war. 

He  was  not  too  far  from  her  to  see  that  she  was 
casting  loose  her  forecastle  gun.  He  looked  bitterly 
at  Stukeley.  "  I  wonder  what  you've  done,  my  duck," 
he  said  under  his  breath.  He  walked  up  to  the  little 
group  by  the  mizen  shrouds;  he  wished  not  to  annoy 
the  lady. 

"  Captain  Margaret,  sir,"  he  said.  "  May  I  just 
speak  to  you  a  moment  ?  " 

His  owner  stepped  aside  with  him. 

"  Look  here,  sir,"  he  said  hurriedly,  "  the  man-of- 
war's  going  to  fire  on  us.  I  don't  know  what  reasons 
you  may  have  for  taking  these  people  aboard.  But  the 
man's  escaping  from  justice,  and  the  lady's  been  bam- 
boozled. In  another  ten  ticks  you'll  have  a  round-shot 
into  you.  Now,  sir,  is  it  fair?  A  round-shot  may 
kill  and  maim  you  a  dozen  hands,  with  the  decks  so 
busy  as  they  are.  Let  me  heave  her  to,  sir.  The 
man's  a  damned  scum.  And  it's  hanging  if  you're 
caught." 


56  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

Perrin  joined  them,  leaving  Olivia  alone.  Her  hus- 
band was  talking  to  the  helmsman,  getting  no  answer. 

"  Charles,  for  the  Lord's  sake,  send  them  in,"  said 
Perrin.  "  Do,  for  the  Lord's  sake,  think  what  you're 
doing.  You'll  ruin  yourself.  You'll  wreck  the  cruise. 
You  simply  can't  have  them  aboard.  Look  at  that 
great  hulking  beast  abaft  there." 

"  Hi,  you,"  called  Cammock  angrily.  "  Clear  away 
from  the  helm  there." 

Stukeley  stared  at  him,  much  surprised. 

"  Yes,  I  mean  you,"  said  Cammock. 

"  No  man  must  talk  to  the  helmsman,"  said  Margaret 
gently. 

"  Your  old  sea-dog  hasn't  learned  manners,  eh  ?  "  said 
Stukeley  insolently.  "  You  must  teach  him." 

He  stared  at  Cammock,  who  returned  the  stare,  and 
then  spun  upon  his  heel  to  con  the  ship  through  the 
channel. 

Perrin  drew  Margaret  aside. 

"  Oh,  Charles.  For  the  last  time.  Think  what 
you're  doing.  I  must  heave  her  to.  You  aren't  fit  to 
decide.  Heave  to,  Captain  Cammock." 

"  As  she  goes,"  cried  Margaret  angrily.  "  No,  Ed- 
ward," he  added  quietly ;  "  I'll  take  them.  I'll  save 
her  one  shock,  anyway.  And  if  I  must  hang  for  it,  I 
must.  That's  settled." 

"  You  don't  even  know  what  he's  done,"  said  Perrin. 

"  He's  her  husband,"  said  Margaret.  "  And  they 
fired  on  her.  They  fired  on  her.  Now  go  and  talk  to 
her.  No  more  talk,  Ned.  They're  coming  with  us. 
Go  and  talk  to  her." 

Perrin  turned  from  his  friend  with  a  gesture  of 
childish  passion.  He  took  off  his  hat,  ripped  the  brim 
from  the  crown  with  a  single  "violent  tug,  and  flung 
both  portions  into  the  sea.  Then  he  walked  swiftly 


OUTWARDS  57 

down  the  ladder  (and  to  his  cabin)  muttering  curses  so 
vehemently  that  they  seemed  to  shake  him.  As  he 
passed  under  the  cabin  door  a  flash  came  from  the  bows 
of  the  sixth-rate.  A  ball  from  a  long  nine-pounder  hit 
up  a  jet  from  the  sea  close  alongside,  then  bounded  on, 
raising  successive  jets,  till  it  was  spent.  Another  shot 
flew  over  them.  A  third,  fired  after  an  interval, 
brought  the  maintopgallant  braceblock  down.  A  part 
of  the  sheave  just  missed  Olivia's  head. 

"  They  ought  not  to  salute  with  shot,"  explained  Cap- 
tain Margaret.  "  They  always  do.  And  that  bit  of 
lignum  vitse  —  feel  it;  isn't  it  beautifully  smooth  and 
hard  —  would  have  given  you  a  nasty  bruise.  Hold 
on,"  he  called,  catching  her  arm,  "  she's  rolling.  We're 
going  over  the  bar.  It's  all  very  well  wishing  a  ship  a 
pleasant  voyage,"  he  continued.  "  But  I  wonder  they 
don't  kill  people."  His  thought  was,  "  Can  she  be  such 
a  fool  ?  Surely  she  must  know."  But  at  that  time  he 
knew  very  little  of  Stukeley. 

Olivia  answered  him.  The  shot  and  the  rattle  of  the 
falling  gear  had  filled  her  mood.  "  Yes,"  she  said. 
"  But  I  must  be  prepared  for  that.  I  must  be  with 
Tom,  by  his  side,  when  we  fight  the  Spaniards.  I  do 
think  it's  fine  of  him  to  want  to  help  the  Indians." 

"  Yes,"  said  Captain  Margaret.  "  But  won't  you  go 
below?  A  braceblock  on  the  head  is  a  very  bad  pre- 
paration for  helping  any  one."  He  glanced  anxiously 
astern  at  the  man-of-war;  he  was  surprised  to  see  that 
she  was  not  in  sight.  The  Broken  Heart  was  clear  of 
the  harbour,  feeling  the  heave  outside,  hidden  from 
Salcombe  by  Lambury  Point.  The  pursuing  cutter  was 
sailing  back  to  the  sixth-rate.  It  was  a  shock  to  him, 
for  a  moment  of  time,  to  think  that  now  he  had  burned 
his  boats,  and  that  he  was  pledged  to  a  very  doubtful 
venture.  "  There'll  be  no  more  firing,"  he  added. 


58  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  Doesn't  Bolt  Head  look  fine  from  here  ?  Look  at  the 
breakers  on  the  rocks  there.  Olivia,  you  must  put  on 
a  warm  coat  or  wrap.  The  sea-wind  is  cold." 

"  I'd  rather  be  as  I  am,"  she  answered.  "  Tell  me, 
Charles,"  she  added,  "  are  you  sure  that  you  would  like 
us  to  come  with  you  ?  Quite  sure  ?  We  could  easily 
go  ashore  at  Plymouth.  But  my  husband  is  so  bent  on 
coming,  and  he'll  be  so  useful  to  you.  You  will  let  us 
come,  won't  you?  You  know,  all  my  life  has  been  so 
empty.  And  now.  Now  I'm  so  happy,  I  want  every 
one  else  to  be  happy.  Oh,  I'd  love  to  help  the  Indians." 

"  You  shall  come,  certainly,"  said  the  captain. 
"  But  are  you  sure  you're  fitted  for  the  voyage  ?  Our 
venture  is  not  exactly.  Ladies  are  out  of  place.  You 
may  have  to  suffer  a  great  deal  of  very  great  hardship. 

And  then  you  might I  want  you  to  think,  Olivia. 

You  might  —  we  all  might  —  be  captured  by  the  Span- 
iards." 

''  Oh,"  she  answered,  "  I  went  into  that  with  Tom, 
after  you'd  gone,  about  half  an  hour  after,  when  I 
told  him  of  your  visit.  Directly  I  told  him  of  it,  he 
was  eager  to  come  with  you.  The  first  thing  he  said 
was,  '  Olivia,  do  you  think  your  friends  would  take 
us?'" 

"  It  must  have  been  rather  a  shock  to  you.  To  de- 
cide in  such  a  hurry." 

"  Oh ;  but  it  is  so  nice  to  do  that.  Besides,  if  we 
hadn't  decided,  we  should  have  gone  to  Venice,  or  some- 
where not  half  so  nice." 

"  Well.  How  will  you  like  being  at  least  six  months 
from  home  ?  Have  you  reckoned  on  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  but  the  only  home  one  has  is  just  one's  self. 
The  only  real  home." 

"  Now,  Olivia.  I  love  to  have  you  with  me.  You 
know  that  of  course.  But  you  don't  realize  how  dis- 


OUTWAKDS  59 

agreeable  the  life  may  be."  A  thought  struck  him. 
"  Yes,"  he  muttered  excitedly.  "  Nor  how  dangerous," 
he  added,  "  how  frightfully  dangerous." 

"  One  can  always  be  one's  self,"  she  replied.  "  And 
I  shan't  be  afraid  of  danger,  with  Tom  by  me." 

"  And  the  danger  will  threaten  him,  remember." 

"  I  shall  take  care  of  him." 

Something  in  her  voice,  in  her  manner,  made  Captain 
Margaret  think  that  Olivia's  willingness  to  come  with 
them  was  merely  a  willingness  to  please  her  husband. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  her  first  sight  of  England  from 
the  sea  had  come  upon  her  with  a  shock.  He  felt  that 
she  only  kept  from  tears  by  an  effort,  now  that  the 
excitement  of  the  race  had  passed.  He  saw  her  look 
at  the  men  who  hauled  the  braces;  following  her  train 
of  thought,  that  these  were  to  be  her  companions  for 
months  to  come.  He  felt  instinctively  that  her  mind 
began  to  dwell  upon  the  possible  disagreeable  closeness 
of  companionship,  shut  up  in  a  small  ship's  cabin, 
with  three  or  four  men.  He  wondered  whether  Stuke- 
ley  had  bullied  her  into  the  venture.  He  thought  not. 
He  had  ever  believed  a  rogue  to  be  plausible,  rather 
than  masterful.  He  promised  himself  some  little 
amusement  in  cross-examining  Stukeley,  to  learn  the 
history  of  that  day's  work.  He  remembered  then  that 
he  was  their  host.  He  called  Stukeley.  "  Won't  you 
both  come  below,"  he  said,  "  to  see  what  sort  of  house 
you've  chosen  ?  "  He  led  them  down  the  poop-ladder 
to  the  alley-way  door.  As  he  passed  the  door  of  Per- 
riri's  cabin  he  heard  a  shaking  voice  uttering  fierce 
curses.  Perrin  was  stamping  up  and  down,  wholly 
given  over  to  rage. 

Up  on  deck,  Captain  Cammock  walked  the  weather- 
poop,  glad  at  heart  that  the  wind  was  freshening. 
The  Broken  Heart  was  lying  over  a  little,  with  the  wind 


60  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

on  her  starboard  beam.  She  was  under  all  sail,  going 
through  it  at  about  five  knots.  "  I  shall  drive  you,  my 
duck,"  he  said.  "  You  shall  groan  to-night."  He 
longed  for  a  whole  gale,  a  roaring  Western  Ocean  gale, 
that  the  passengers  might  learn  their  folly.  He  eyed 
the  sails,  stiff  and  trembling,  with  shaking  shadows  at 
their  clues.  The  carpenter  was  screwing  battens  be- 
hind the  gun-trocks;  the  boatswain  and  half  the  watch 
were  forward,  singing  out  on  a  rope.  Captain  Cam- 
mock  watched  them  whenever  he  turned  forward. 
When  he  walked  aft,  he  turned,  glanced  at  the  compass, 
looked  aloft  at  the  maintopgallant  sail,  and  noted  the 
feathers  on  the  wind-vane.  He  was  reviewing  the  situa- 
tion. "  It  was  a  good  thing  for  us,"  he  thought,  "  that 
that  duchess  lady  was  aboard  that  frigate.  Otherwise 
we'd  a-been  chased  and  took.  Now  how  was  it  her  boat 
gave  chase  ?  The  duchess  lady  arrives  from  the  south ; 
after  six  days  at  sea,  say.  She  sends  in  for  letters 
and  stores,  and  the  boat  waits  at  the  pier.  Now  this 
Stukeley  fellow  came  alongside  us  in  a  shore  boat,  from 
Salcombe.  I  saw  the  word  Salcombe  on  her  backboard. 

Now  if  I  was  that  Stukeley  duck How  could 

it  have  been,  I  wonder.  He  couldn't  have  come  from 
the  pier,  because  the  man-of-war  boat  lay  there.  If  he 
wanted  to  get  away,  what  would  he  have  done?  He'd 
have  left  word  for  his  gear  to  be  brought  down  to  the 
water;  and  then  gone  off  for  a  walk  or  drive.  Then 
he'd  have  sent  a  boat  for  his  gear,  and  got  her  to  pick 
him  up  and  row  him  about,  up  towards  Kingsbridge, 
say,  as  soon  as  ever  he  decided  to  come  aboard  of  us. 
He  knew  he  was  wanted,  that  duck  did.  Yes.  That 
was  it.  For  sure.  And  them  who  was  laying  for  him 
hears  of  that,  and  sends  up  a  boat  to  look  for  him ;  but 
he  gives  her  the  slip.  As  soon  as  the  ebb  begins,  he 
runs  down.  And  away  he  comes  full  tilt  for  us.  Now 


OUTWARDS  61 

some  one  who  was  laying  for  him  must  have  been  on  the 
jetty,  waiting  for  him  to  land.  Soon  as  ever  he  come 
past,  they  nip  into  the  cutter  in  the  name  of  the  King 
and  pull  after  him.  A  little  too  far  after.  One  boat 
pulls  to  the  frigate,  and  so  we  get  three  nine-pounder 
shots  sent  at  us,  before  the  duchess  lady  tells  'em  to  stop 
that  horrid  firing.  I  wonder  what  that  Stukeley  duck 
has  done,  now." 

He  turned  over  this  outline  of  the  Stukeley  escape, 
just  as,  years  before,  he  had  pieced  out  evidence,  and 
scouts'  reports,  when  he  was  cruising  on  the  Spanish 
Main.  He  had  always  wished  to  have  a  command  on 
the  Main ;  for  he  had  more  than  courage  to  recommend 
him.  He  had  a  keen  intuitive  shrewdness  and  a  power 
of  deduction.  "  They  never  give  me  a  chance  on  the 
Main,"  he  thought.  "  But  I  was  right  about  them 
roasting  spuds."  He  sighed.  That  error  of  his  cap- 
tain had  lost  them  a  pound  of  gold  apiece.  "  Now," 
he  thought,  "  if  them  two  birds  is  coming  the  cruise  we 
shan't  have  a  very  happy  ship." 

Bell  after  bell  passed  by;  the  day  wore;  the  sun 
set.  As  he  had  foretold,  the  wind  drew  more  to  the 
west ;  freshening  as  it  shifted.  The  Broken  Heart  was 
beginning  to  feel  the  strain.  She  was  lying  down  a 
little,  and  whitening  a  path  in  the  sea.  She  was  full 
of  odd  noises.  The  breechings  on  her  guns  were  new, 
they  cracked  and  creaked  at  each  roll;  her  decks 
groaned  as  the  trocks  ground.  At  two  bells,  when  the 
hands  came  aft  to  muster,  in  the  summer  twilight, 
having  catted  the  anchor,  she  was  seven  miles  from 
land,  driving  on  in  the  dusk,  making  the  seas  gleam. 
Her  poop-light,  like  a  burning  rose  abaft  all,  reddened 
her  wake  with  bloody  splashes.  She  stooped  to  it  and 
staggered.  Over  her  bows  came  the  sprays,  making 
the  look-outs  cower  down  in  their  tarred  coats.  The 


6-2  CAPTAIN  MARGAEET 

water  whitened  aft  in  a  washing  rush,  gleaming  and 
creaming.  By  the  break  of  the  poop  the  watch  lay. 
A  score  of  men  huddled  together  in  the  shade,  mar- 
shalled by  the  boatswain  in  his  old  blue  cloak,  scurfed 
with  salt  at  the  seams.  Voices  murmured  among  them ; 
one  lit  a  pipe,  one  hummed.  The  wind  in  the  shrouds 
hummed;  already  the  blocks  were  clacking.  Now  and 
then,  as  they  rushed  on,  in  the  gathering  darkness,  the 
boy  above  struck  the  bell;  and  from  forward  came  the 
answering  bell,  with  the  call  of  the  look-outs,  "  Weather 
cathead,"  "  Lee  cathead,"  showing  that  they  were  alert. 
The  steward  came  from  the  alleyway,  snuffing  up  the 
strong  salt  air;  he  climbed  the  lee  ladder  to  the  poop. 
Battling  up  to  windward  against  the  gale,  he  halted  and 
uncovered  before  the  captain. 

"  Well,  steward,"  said  Cammock. 

"  Captain  Margaret  sends  his  compliments  to  you, 
seh,"  said  the  old  negro,  with  the  soft  "  boneless  "  speech 
of  his  kind,  "  and  will  you  step  below,  seh,  to  speak  with 
him  in  the  cabin." 

"  Tell  him  I'll  be  down  in  a  minute,"  said  Cammock. 
He  glanced  at  the  compass-card  again,  and  spoke  a 
word  with  old  Mr.  Cottrill,  the  mate,  whose  watch  it 
was,  according  to  old  sea  custom.  "  Call  me  if  it 
freshens,"  he  said ;  "  but  don't  take  any  sail  off." 

Mr.  Cottrill  murmured  that  he  understood,  and  bent 
under  his  coat  to  get  a  light  for  his  pipe.  His  thought 
was,  "  I've  shipped  with  pirates.  With  pirates."  The 
memory  of  that  afternoon  gave  him  bitter  thoughts  till 
midnight,  as  the  ship  rushed  on,  under  the  stars,  carry- 
ing her  freight  of  passion,  her  freight  of  souls. 

Down  below  in  the  cabin  the  lamp  had  been  lighted. 
The  curtains  had  been  drawn  across  the  windows,  and 
now  swayed  a  little  with  the  roll,  making  a  faint  click 


OUTWAKDS  63 

of  rings.  They  were  dark  green  curtains ;  but  on  each 
of  them  was  worked  a  blood-red  tulip,  which  glowed 
out  finely  in  the  lamplight.  The  windows  were  open 
behind  the  curtains.  At  times,  when  the  ship  pitched, 
the  cloth  sucked  in  or  out,  sending  the  lamp-flame 
dancing.  At  the  table  were  the  two  Stukeleys  and 
Captain  Margaret.  P'errin  sat  upon  the  locker  by  the 
window,  biting  his  poor  raw  thumbs.  When  Captain 
Cammock  entered,  he  noticed  that  Olivia  had  been 
drinking  a  bowl  of  soup,  and  that  Stukeley  was  staring 
hard  in  front  of  him,  clutching  his  glass  of  spirits. 

"  You're  turning  sick,"  said  Cammock  to  himself. 
"  Wait  till  we  haul  our  wind,  my  duck.  Oh,  mommer." 
A  single  hard  glance  at  Olivia  convinced  him  that  she 
felt  wretched.  "  More  than  you  bargained  for,  ain't 
it  ?  "  he  thought  cheerfully.  "  You  wait  till  we  haul 
our  wind." 

He  had  the  common  man's  hatred  of  strangeness  and 
of  .strangers.  He  loved  not  to  have  more  folk  aboard 
to  interrupt  his  chats  with  his  owners,  and  to  sit  in 
the  sacred  cabin,  ordering  his  steward. 

"  Captain  Cammock,"  said  Margaret,  "  let  me  intro- 
duce you  to  Mrs.  Stukeley.  Mr.  Stukeley." 

The  captain  bowed. 

"  Captain  Cammock  is  our  commander,  Olivia." 

Olivia  smiled  at  the  captain,  much  as  a  Christian 
martyr  may  have  smiled. 

"  Pleased  to  meet  you,  ma'am,"  said  the  captain, 
bowing. 

He  felt  a  queer  gush  of  pity  for  her,  remembering 
how  he  had  felt,  years  before,  on  his  first  night  at  sea. 

"  I  hope  you  won't  make  my  little  ship  giddy, 
ma'am,"  he  said  kindly.  "  You  must  wear  veils.  All 
ladies  has  to,  when  they  come  on  deck.  You  know, 


64 

ma'am "  He  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  the  table. 

"  I  seen  a  ship  quite  lose  her  head  one  time.  And  the 
girl  who  done  it  wasn't  to  be  compared,  not  to  you." 

"  You  see,  Olivia,"  said  Margaret,  "  a  sailor  loses  no 
time." 

"  You  must  come  on  deck  and  see  the  moon  by  and 
by,  ma'am,"  said  Cammock  kindly.  "  And  bring  your 
husband.  It's  nice  and  fresh  up  on  the  deck.  It'll  do 
you  good  before  turning  in,  I  dare  say,"  he  went  on. 
"  I  dare  say  you've  never  seen  the  sea  at  night.  Not  all 
round  you.  No?  Well,  you  come  up." 

Olivia  thanked  him  for  his  invitation. 

"  I've  lived  by  the  sea  all  my  life,"  she  said ;  "  but 
I  was  never  on  it  in  a  ship  before,  except  when  I  went  to 
France." 

The  words  were  very  hard  to  speak ;  for  as  she  spoke, 
with  a  rush,  with  a  flash,  burningly,  as  tears  come, 
came  the  memory  of  her  sheltered  life  at  home,  with 
her  old  servants,  and  her  garden  full  of  flowers,  over 
which  now,  at  this  moment,  the  moon  was  rising,  light- 
ing the  moths  to  their  honey.  She  was  homesick;  she 
longed  for  that  old  life.  Life  had  gone  very  smoothly 
there ;  and  now  she  was  at  sea  in  a  ship,  among  rough 
men,  amid  noise  and  bawling  and  the  roaring  of  wind. 
She  kept  a  brave  face  upon  it,  but  her  heart  was 
wretched;  she  wondered  why  her  husband  did  not  un- 
derstand. She  longed  for  the  peace  of  her  quiet  room 
at  home,  full  of  the  scent  of  flowers,  and  of  that  vague 
scent,  pleasant,  and  yet  morbid,  which  hangs  about  all 
houses  where  there  has  been  a  fine  tradition  of  life. 
Old  things,  old  beautiful  things,  seem  to  give  out  this 
scent,  the  scent  of  the  dead  sweet  pea-blossom.  Where- 
ever  that  vague  perfume  lingers,  something  of  the  old 
world  lives,  something  beautiful,  stately,  full  of  sweet 
care.  Olivia  was  made  for  that  life  of  lovely  order,, 


OUTWARDS  65 

Her  life  had  been  passed  in  the  gathering  of  flowers, 
in  the  playing  of  music,  in  dances,  in  the  reading  of 
poems.  All  sweet  and  lovely  and  gracious  things  had 
wrought  her;  but  they  had  not  fitted  her  for  this. 
Something  was  wrong  with  the  justice  of  the  world; 
for  surely  such  as  she  should  have  been  spared.  She 
was  not  for  the  world ;  not  at  least  for  the  world  of  men. 
She  was  the  idea  of  woman ;  she  should  have  been  spared 
the  lot  of  women.  Her  beautiful  grace,  her  beautiful 
refinement,  surely  they  were  beautiful  enough  for  her 
to  be  spared.  Now  this  violence  had  happened;  this 
brutal  rearrangement  of  her  life,  needing  further  vio- 
lence to  remedy.  At  the  time  she  understood  nothing 
of  what  had  happened.  She  was  stunned  and  surprised, 
as  a  flower  dug  up  and  transplanted  must  be  surprised 
and  stunned.  She  drooped  and  pined;  this  alien  soil 
made  her  shrink.  As  she  sat  there,  ignorant  of  the 
world,  highly  ignorant,  even,  of  the  nature  of  sea-sick- 
ness, she  wondered  why  her  husband  made  no  effort  to 
cheer  her,  to  comfort  her,  to  be  about  her,  like  a  strong 
wall,  shutting  out  the  world.  In  her  home  by  the 
sea,  by  lamplight,  over  her  music,  she  had  often  dreamed 
of  the  lover  who  would  fill  her  life.  She  had  thought 
of  him  as  of  one  who  would  live  her  life  by  imaginative 
sympathy,  thinking  her  thoughts,  feeling  with  her  own 
fineness  of  tact,  following  each  shy,  unspoken  thought 
in  the  passing  of  shadow  or  smile,  in  the  change  of  the 
voice,  in  the  gesture,  or  even  without  such  help,  by  an 
extreme  unselfish  sensitiveness.  She  found  comfort  in 
the  thought  that  her  husband  must  be  debating  the  wis- 
dom of  this  cruise,  which,  only  a  few  hours  ago,  had 
seemed  so  wise,  so  noble,  so  right  in  every  way. 

Captain  Margaret  broke  the  silence  which  had  fol- 
lowed her  last  words. 

"  Captain  Cammock,"  he  said,  "  we're  making  a  new, 


06  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

arrangement  in  the  cabins.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stukeley  will 
have  my  double  cabin  to  starboard  here.  I  shall  have 
the  spare  bunk  in  Mr.  Perrin's  cabin.  I  shall  want  you 
to  beat  up  to  Falmouth,  captain." 

"  You'll  run  some  risk  of  gaol,  Charles,"  said  the 
petulant  friend  on  the  locker-tops.  "  You'll  probably 
be  wanted  by  this  time  to-morrow  all  over  the  west  of 
England." 

"You  were  always  a  pessimist,"  said  Margaret. 

"  Is  the  lady  to  go  ashore,  then  ?  "  said  Cammock, 
looking  towards  Olivia. 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Margaret.  "  But  if  she  stays  she 
must  have  a  maid.  We  shall  put  her  —  let  me  see." 

"  Where  will  you  put  her  ? "  asked  Perrin. 
"  There's  no  room.  You  surely  won't  put  her  in  the 
'tween-decks  ? " 

"  No,"  replied  his  friend.  "  We  must  make  up  a 
room  in  the  sail-room.  Captain  Cammock  must  shift 
his  sails  into  the  'tween-decks." 

"  She'll  have  the  biggest  room  in  the  ship,"  said  Cam- 
mock.  "  She'll  be  able  to  give  a  ball  to  the  hands." 

"  Charles,"  said  Olivia,  "  I  don't  think  I  can  possibly 
come  with  you.  I'm  giving  you  too  much  trouble." 

She  was  hurt,  now,  that  it  was  Charles,  not  her  hus- 
band, who  had  thought  of  her  comfort,  and  shown  that 
he  considered  her  position. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Margaret.  "  You're  being  very 
nice.  You  just  make  all  the  difference.  Now,  you're 
both  tired  out.  Your  cabin's  quite  ready  for  you. 
Suppose  we  all  go  on  deck  to  take  the  air  for  a  while 
before  we  say  good-night." 

As  they  filed  on  deck,  Cammock  drew  Stukeley  aside. 

"  See  here,"  he  said.  "  You're  giving  way  to  it. 
You'll  be  as  sick  as  a  dog  if  you  give  way  to  it.  What 
you  want  to  do  is  to  get  some  nice  fat  pork,  or  a  bit  of 


OUTWARDS  67 

greasy  bacon,  now.  Or  lard.  The  steward  'd  lend  you 
a  ball  of  lard.  Or  get  one  of  the  hands  to  puff  tobacker 
at  yer.  Or  take  a  suck  at  a  little  melted  butter,  or 
some  of  that  salad  oil  as  they  call  it.  It'll  fetch  you 
up  all  standing." 

He  turned  to  his  owner  as  Olivia  left  the  poop. 

"  And  you  wish  me  to  beat  for  Falmouth,  sir  ?  " 

"  If  you  please,"  answered  Captain  Margaret. 

"  Very  good,  sir.  I'll  go  about  at  once.  I  can  tack 
with  the  watch.  Mr.  Cottrill,"  he  shouted,  "  Ready 
oh." 

His  advice  to  Stukeley  had  the  usual  results. 
Olivia's  first  night  at  sea  was  passed  in  the  marriage-bed 
of  the  state-room  by  the  side  of  a  sea-sick  boor,  who 
groaned  and  damned  and  was  violently  sick  all  through 
the  night.  He  complained  of  cold  before  the  dawn 
broke,  so  she  gave  him  her  share  of  blankets,  tenderly 
tucking  him  in.  Up  on  deck  the  men  passed  quietly  to 
relieve  the  wheel.  The  main  race-block  grunted  and 
rattled ;  the  mizen  topsail  sheets  flogged  on  the  woolding 
of  the  mast,  making  a  noise  like  drums.  Up  and  down, 
above  her  head,  in  a  soft,  never-ending  shuffle,  went  the 
ship's  boy,  keeping  the  lee  poop.  At  each  bell  she  heard 
the  hails  of  the  lookouts :  "  Weather  cathead,"  "  Lee 
cathead,"  "  Gangway,"  "  Lee  poop,"  coming  in  the  gusts 
of  the  storm.  Often,  too,  she  heard  a  noise  which 
she  had  never  heard  before,  a  terrifying  noise,  the 
noise  of  water  breaking  aboard,  the  lash  of  spray  against 
her  scuttle.  The  wind  freshened  through  the  night, 
till  it  blew  a  fresh  gale.  The  Broken  Heart  took  on 
strange  antics,  which  seemed  very  dreadful  to  Olivia. 
Far  aft,  as  she  was,  the  pitching  was  violent  and 
broken.  Each  little  sea  seemed  deep  as  the  valley  of 
the  shadow.  The  roaring  in  the  shrouds  increased. 
At  4  a.  m.,  all  hands  reefed  topsails.  Creeping  out  of 


68  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

bed  to  the  great  cabin,  she  managed  to  peep  to  leeward 
through  the  skylight,  in  a  heavy  lee-roll,  which  made 
her  clutch  the  table.  She  saw  a  wild  sky,  notched  by 
the  sea ;  great  billows  foaming,  spray  flying  down  wind, 
angry  gleams  in  blown  cloud.  From  just  above  her 
head  came  the  bull-roar  of  Captain  Cammock,  who  was 
damning  the  mizen-top  men.  "  Lay  in  to  the  top,  you," 
he  was  shouting.  "  Lay  down  a  few  of  you  and  clue  it 
up."  Then  from  just  above  her  head  came  the  thunder 
of  the  slatting  sail  as  the  topsail  yard  came  down. 
"  Away.  Away.  Lee-ay,"  came  the  startling  shouts 
of  the  men  on  the  clue-lines.  The  sail  thundered  and 
jangled.  The  men  roared  at  the  ropes.  Captain  Cam- 
mock,  with  his  head  tilted  back,  yelled  to  them  to  lay 
out,  and  hand  the  leech  in.  One  phrase  struck  upon 
her  sharply.  He  bade  them  make  it  fast,  letting  the 
bunt  go  to  a  place  she  had  never  heard  of.  "  Pass  your 
gaskets.  Pass  them  yard-arm  gaskets.  Get  on  the 
yard,  you.  Stamp  that  damned  bunt  down."  The  ex- 
cited angry  tone,  the  noise,  the  wild  sky,  all  helped  her 
fears.  She  crept  back  to  Stukeley's  side  sure  that  the 
end  was  coming,  that  the  gale  was  increasing  to  a  hurri- 
cane, and  that,  in  a  little  while,  they  would  all  sink  to- 
gether in  some  wild  whirlpool  screamed  over  by  the 
seagulls. 

On  the  third  day  of  storm,  they  managed  to  beat  into 
Falmouth,  where  they  anchored  off  Trefusis  Point.  It 
was  a  wild,  wet  morning  when  they  anchored.  The 
wooded  combe  of  Trefusis  was  hidden  in  cloud,  which 
continually  whirled  off  in  streamers,  as  new  cloud  drove 
along,  to  catch  in  the  tree  tops.  The  Broken  Heart 
was  the  only  ship  in  the  anchorage ;  though  over  against 
Flushing  there  were  a  few  fishing-boats,  rocking  in  the 
tideway.  Captain  Margaret  went  into  Falmouth,  with 
Perrin  and  Olivia,  to  engage  a  maid.  Stukeley  was  too 


OUTWARDS  69 

weak  from  his  sickness  to  leave  the  ship.  To  Margaret 
it  was  a  sign  that  his  crime  was  exceedingly  foul. 

"  You  have  been  badly  scared,  my  friend,"  he  said 
to  himself,  as  he  sat  down  beside  Olivia  in  the  boat. 
"  If  you  persist  in  leaving  England,  after  being  sick 
like  that." 

Olivia  had  found  comfort  in  what  she  took  to  be 
her  husband's  nobleness.  She  was  proud  that  her 
husband  had  not  abandoned  his  ideas  because  of  his 
bodily  distress.  By  this  time,  too,  she  had  seen  the 
potency  of  sea-sickness.  She  had  seen  its  effect  upon 
a  strong  man.  She  had  got  over  her  first  homesick 
terror  of  the  sea.  The  storm  had  exhilarated  her.  Up 
on  deck,  hanging  to  the  mizen  rigging,  behind  the 
weather-cloth,  she  had  felt  the  rapture  of  the  sea.  She 
had  gone  below  with  her  cheeks  flushed  and  her  eyes 
shining,  cheered  and  delighted.  She  had  been  touched, 
too,  by  the  kindness  of  the  three  men  of  the  afterguard. 
Cammock  had  given  up  his  cabin  to  the  sick  man,  so 
that  she  might  have  the  great  cabin  to  herself,  in  peace 
and  quiet.  She  had  been  very  busy  in  getting  her  cabin 
into  order,  even  in  the  tumble  of  the  storm.  Now  that 
she  had  made  the  state-room  a  home  she  had  less  terror 
of  the  sea. 

It  was  not  an  easy  matter  to  engage  a  maid  for  such 
a  voyage.  They  tried  at  many  mean  houses,  using 
tempting  promises;  but  without  success.  At  last  they 
called  at  the  poor-house,  where  they  had  their  choice 
of  several.  An  idiot  girl,  aged  twenty,  four  old  women 
who  remembered  King  James,  and  the  widow  Inigo, 
a  black  but  comely  woman,  in  the  prime  of  life,  who 
had  gone  under  after  a  succession  of  disasters  beginning 
with  the  death  of  her  husband.  They  struck  a  hard 
bargain  with  the  widow  Inigo,  and  then  bore  her  down 
the  hill  to  buy  her  an  outfit  for  the  voyage.  At  the 


70 

mercer's  shop,  where  Olivia  and  the  widow  made  their 
purchases,  Captain  Margaret,  following  his  invariable 
custom,  began  a  conversation  with  one  of  the  shopmen, 
a  youth  just  out  of  his  apprenticeship. 

"  How  long  do  you  have  to  stay  here  every  day  ?  " 

"  About  twelve  hours,  sir.     From  six  till  six." 

"  That's  a  very  long  day's  work,  isn't  it  ?  Do  you 
have  those  hours  all  the  year  round,  or  only  in  the 
summer  ?  " 

"  All  the  year  round,  sir." 

"  And  what  holidays  do  you  have  ?  " 

"  Holidays,  sir  ?  Easter,  and  Christmas,  and  Whit- 
suntide. Of  course  I've  my  Sundays." 

"  And  how  do  you  pass  your  spare  time  ?  " 

"  I  go  out  with  fellows,  sir." 

"  And  what  do  you  do  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  we  dub  at  something." 

"And  what  is  dub?" 

"We  put  up  a  bottle  somewhere,  and  then  we  dub 
at  it." 

"Is  that  all  you  do?" 

"  On  Thursdays  our  club  meets.  Then  we  have 
singing." 

"  And  do  you  read  at  all  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  can't  say  as  I  ever  do,  sir.  I  don't  want 
much  reading  after  the  shutters  are  up." 

"  I  should  have  thought  that  you'd  have  been  a  great 
reader.  Don't  you  find  your  work  very  interesting  ?  " 

"  Oh.     It's  all  right,  sir.     Like  any  other  work." 

"  Yes.  But.  Take  these  woollen  things,  for  in- 
stance. Don't  you  think  of  all  the  hands  it  has  passed 
through  ?  Don't  you  think  of  the  sheep  up  on  the  hills, 
and  the  shepherds  piping  to  them,  and  the  great  lonely 
downs,  eh,  with  nothing  but  sheep-bells  and  the 
wind?" 

• 


OUTWARDS  Yl 

"  No,  sir.     Not  in  that  light  exactly." 

"  And  then,  don't  you  think  of  the  brooks  where  they 
wash  and  shear  ?  And  then  the  great  combs  and  looms, 
with  so  many  people  combing  and  weaving  and  spin- 
ning, all  helping  to  make  this  ?  "  He  picked  up  the 
warm  woollen  shirt,  and  handled  it.  "  And  don't  you 
think  of  the  people  who  will  wear  these  things  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  You  see,  I'm  only  a  shopman.  Mr.  Tre- 
loar,  the  owner,  he  thinks  of  all  these  things." 

"  And  will  not  you  be  a  shop-owner,  sometime,  if  you 
save  and  work  hard  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.     Oh  no,  sir.     I'm  only  a  shopman." 

"  Yes ;  but  could  you  not  become  a  shop-owner  ? 
Would  you  not  like  to  be  one  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.     I  can't  say  as  I  should,  sir." 

"  What  would  you  like  to  be  ?  " 

"Of  all  things,  sir?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.     That's  rather  a  big  order,  sir." 

"  Think." 

"  I  think,  sir,  I'd  like  to  be.  Don't  let  Mr.  Burls 
hear,  sir.  He's  listening.  I'd  like  to  be  one  of  these 
buccaneers,  sir.  Fellows  what  goes  about  fighting  the 
Spaniards.  They  live  an  open-air  life.  Not  like  here, 
sir.  Oh,  I'd  like  to  lie  by  a  camp-fire,  sir,  with  a  lot 
of  big  bronzed  men.  And  to  have  a  gun,  sir.  And 
then  to  attack  a  city  full  of  treasure." 

"  But  I  should  think  that  was  very  dangerous.  Isn't 
it?" 

"  No,  sir.  Not  by  all  accounts,  sir.  A  poor  lot,  sir, 
the  Spaniards.  They're  not  like  us,  you  know,  sir. 
Our  fellows  are  a  bull-dog  lot,  sir.  The  bull-dog  breed, 
sir." 

"Really!" 

"  Oh  yes,  sir.     Why,  sir,  only  a  day  or  two  ago  there 


72  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

come  the  news-letter  from  Plymouth.  I  dare  say  you 
saw  it,  sir.  And  there  was  a  Virginia  ship  at  Salcombe, 
it  says.  Did  you  see  that  bit,  sir  ?  And  a  forger  was 
escaping  from  the  constables,  and  he  got  on  board  this 
ship  and  bribes  the  captain,  and  he  carries  the  man  off 
safe,  with  the  men-of-war  all  firing  broadsides  on  him. 
Oh,  it  must  be  fine  to  hear  the  cannon-balls  coming 
whizz." 

"  Indeed !     A  forger,  you  say  ?  " 

"A  forger,  sir;  but  he'd  done  other  things  as  well, 
sir,  of  course.  And  he'd  a  lady  with  him,  too,  sir." 

"  But  you  wouldn't  like  to  be  that  sort  of  man  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"What  would  you  do  to  the  forger,  if  you  caught 
him?" 

"  I  should  give  him  up  to  the  constables,  sir." 

"  And  the  ship-captain  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.  I  haven't  thought  about  it  much, 
sir." 

"  You  would  support  the  laws,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  sir." 

"  Even  if  he  were  a  buccaneer." 

"  Oh,  now  you're  too  hard  on  me,  sir." 

"  But  he  was  defying  the  law.  And  saving  a  ruffian 
from  it" 

"  Yes,  sir.  Of  course  I  suppose  I  should  support  the 
laws,  as  you  say." 

"  It  would  be  rather  nice  to  be  a  buccaneer,  and  to 
obey  only  those  laws  which  one  is  strong  enough  to 
make  for  oneself." 

"Yes,  sir?" 

"  To  defend  the  weak  and  to  make  money  by  it. 
Isn't  that  our  maxim  ?  " 

The  shopman  giggled  nervously.     "  Yes,  sir." 

"  I'm  a  buccaneer,"   said  Margaret.     "  Come  with 


OUTWARDS  ?3 

me.  Won't  you?  You  shall  be  what  you  really  long 
to  be." 

"  Oh,  but  I  couldn't  leave  the  shop,  sir.  Mr.  Treloar 
would  never " 

"  Well,  think  it  over,"  said  Margaret,  rising.  "  I 
hope  you'll  send  all  these  things  down  to  the  landing- 
stage  within  an  hour.  And  send  this  woman's  box 
down  with  them." 

"  Oh,  I  will,  sir.     You  shall  find  them  there,  sir." 

Captain  Margaret  paid  the  cost,  nodded  to  the  shop- 
man, walked  out  with  Olivia.  Mrs.  Inigo  resigned 
her  box  and  followed  them.  They  went  to  several 
other  shops,  made  more  purchases,  trifled  away  half 
an  hour  at  a  pastrycook's,  and  then  set  slowly  shore- 
wards,  talking  little;  but  looking  at  the  shops  with 
interest.  They  would  see  no  more  shops  for  many  days. 
At  the  mercer's  shop  they  paused  a  moment,  for  Captain 
Margaret  had  just  decided  to  take  several  rolls  of  hoi- 
land  linen,  in  order  that  his  hands  might  make  summer 
shirts  for  themselves.  He  left  Olivia  at  the  door  for  a 
moment,  with  Mrs.  Inigo,  while  he  hurried  within. 
His  friend  the  shopman  hurried  up  to  him. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  "  said  Margaret. 

"  The  goods  are  gone  on  board,  sir,"  said  the  shop- 
man. 

"Yes?     Well?     What  is  it?" 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir.  Don't  wish  to  offend,  sir.  But 
are  you  the  gentleman,  the  gentleman,  the,  er,  sea- 
captain.  From  Salcombe,  sir  ?  " 

"Yes.     Why?" 

"Please,  sir,  I  took  the  liberty.  There  was  Mr. 
Russell,  the  magistrate,  and  a  gentleman  from  the  fort, 
sir.  They  came  in  about  you  just  after  you'd  gone. 
They  were  going  to  inquire  about,  about  the  Salcombe 
matter,  sir." 


74  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  Yes.     What  did  you  tell  them  ?  " 

"  I  said  you'd  gone  to  Penryn,  sir,  about  some  beer, 
sir,  for  your  sailors." 

"  That  wasn't  strictly  truthful,  was  it  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  I  suppose  not,  sir.  So  they  went  off  to 
Penryn,  sir.  And  I  told  your  boatmen  to  take  the 
things  aboard,  and  then  wait  for  you  at  the  docks." 

"  Where  are  the  docks  ?  " 

"  Nearly  a  mile  down  the  harbour,  sir.  Further  on 
along  the  road  here.  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  the 
landing-stage  has  soldiers  on  it." 

"  Thank  you.     Have  they  sent  to  seize  the  ship  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.     Oh  no  indeed,  sir.     I  think 

"  Why  haven't  they  ?     Did  you  hear  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  heard  them  say,  sir,  that  they  had  only 
a  warrant  for  —  if  I  may  say  so,  as  they  call  it,  for  you, 
sir." 

"  How  far  is  it  to  Penryn  ?  I  suppose  they'll  be  back 
soon?" 

"  Yes,  sir.     They  might  be  back  at  any  moment." 

"  Thanks.  Well.  Show  me  where  the  docks  are. 
Away  to  the  left  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  You  can't  miss  them.  If  I  might  come 
with  you,  sir." 

"  To  the  Spanish  Main  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  I'm  afraid  I  can't.  But  to  the  docks, 
sir." 

"  Can  you  leave  this  ?  " 

"  It's  my  dinner-time,  sir." 

"  Come  on,  then.  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged  to 
you.  Isn't  this  more  exciting  than  selling  woollen 
shirts  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir.  Indeed.  But  shirts  are  useful  things, 
sir." 

"  I  deny  that.     They  are  pernicious  things.     They 


OUTWARDS  ?5 

are  always  getting  dirty,  and  then  some  poor  wretch 
with  an  immortal  soul  must  scrub  them  in  hot  water. 
They  are  always  losing  their  buttons,  and  then  other 
poor  wretches  have  to  make  new  ones  and  sew  them 
on  again.  They  are  always  wearing  out,  and  then 
other  poor  wretches  have  to  begin  the  silly  game  again 
by  penning  up  a  few  sheep  and  cutting  their  wool 
away." 

By  this  time  they  were  outside  the  door. 

"  Come,  Olivia,"  he  said  carelessly.  "  We  must  walk 
to  the  docks.  You  will  be  tired  to  deajk  before  you 
get  there." 

"  Oh  no  I  shan't,"  she  answered.     "  I  love  walking." 

"  Give  me  that  package,"  he  replied. 

"  Now,"  he  continued  to  the  shopman,  "  walk  as 
though  we  were  seeing  the  sights.  Oh.  Here's  a 
butcher's  shop.  Now  my  captain  would  never  forgive 
me  if  I  came  aboard  without  a  leg  of  mutton." 

He  bought  a  leg  of  mutton,  handed  it  to  the  shop- 
man to  carry,  and  sauntered  on. 

"  You  must  have  your  jest,  I  see,  sir,"  said  the  shop- 
man. 

"  Oh  yes,  if  I  swing  for  it,"  replied  the  captain, 
quoting  from  a  popular  broadside,  which  had  contained 
the  biography  of  a  pirate. 

"  Hadn't  we  better  walk  a  little  faster,  sir  ?  "  said  the 
shopman.  He  had  no  desire  to  be  caught;. he  was  not 
used  to  excitements. 

"  Olivia,"  said  Captain  Margaret,  paying  no  atten- 
tion to  his  new  acquaintance,  but  continuing  to  saunter 
leisurely,  "  when  we  get  on  board  I  expect  you'll  find 
your  husband  up  and  about." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  I  ought  not  to  have  left 
him  for  so  long.  I've  hardly  seen  him  for  days." 

He  had  spoken  so  that  the  shopman  might  make  no 


76  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

allusions  to  the  Salcombe  affair,  casting  out  a  reference 
to  Stukeley's  crime.  She  had  answered  with  some 
little,  half-acknowledged  wish  to  pique  him. 

"  To-night,"  said  Margaret,  "  in  the  cabin,  we'll  all 
hold  a  council  of  war  to  decide  our  doings  on  the  Main." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  And  when  we  get  there  we 
shall  remember  the  council.  Things  will  look  very 
different  there." 

"  Here.     You've  been  talking  to  Cammock." 

"  He's  so  amusing,"  she  answered. 

Sauntering  in  this  way,  talking  nonsense  and  trifling, 
they  arrived  at  the  boat-builder's  creek  which  then  did 
duty  for  a  dock.  Their  boat  lay  off  at  a  little  distance ; 
the  hands  were  lying  on  their  oars.  Captain  Margaret 
hailed  her;  she  put  in.  He  handed  Olivia  into  the 
sternsheets.  Mrs.  Inigo,  well  used  to  boats  from  her 
childhood,  stepped  into  the  bows.  The  stroke  oar  ar- 
ranged the  parcels  and  placed  the  leg  of  mutton  behind 
the  backboard.  Captain  Margaret  turned  to  the  shop- 
man, and  walked  a  few  steps  with  him  out  of  ear-shot 
of  the  boat.  He  glanced  up  the  anchorage  to  see  if  any 
armed  boat  was  putting  off. 

"  Don't  wait,  sir,"  said  the  shopman.  "  Lord,  sir, 
think  of  the  risk.  Why  don't  you  go,  sir  ?  It's  fright- 
fully dangerous,  sir." 

"  You  exaggerate  the  risk,"  he  answered  calmly. 
"  Well,  you've  done  me  a  good  turn.  Why  did  you 
do  me  a  good  turn  ?  " 

"  Oh  sir,  I'm  sure." 

"  I  shall  often  think  of  you,"  said  Captain  Margaret. 
"  Are  you  sure  you  won't  come  with  me  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  sir.     I  couldn't  really  be  persuaded,  sir." 

"  Well,  think  of  us." 

"  I  shall  think  of  you  always,  sir.  You  are  a  real 
buccaneer,  sir  ? " 


OUTWARDS  77 

"  Oh  yes.  Real.  In  my  ship  yonder,  there's  a  man 
who  knew  Morgan." 

"  I've  never  had  anything  happen  to  me,  sir,  before." 

"  Does  it  make  any  difference,  do  you  find  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sir." 

"  Will  you  wear  this  charm  of  mine  to  remember 
me  by  ? "  He  detached  a  small  gold  jewel,  set  with 
symbolical  stones.  "It  is  said  to  bring  success  in  love. 
I  don't  believe  it." 

The  man  took  the  symbol  as  though  it  were  an  egg- 
shell. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  he  said  with  fervour.  "  Thank 
you  very  much,  sir."  Then  he  started  violently.  "  Oh, 
sir,"  he  cried,  remembering  the  risk,  "  do  go,  sir.  It's 
frightfully  dangerous,  sir." 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret,  "  I  mustn't  keep  the  lady  wait- 
ing. I  hope  you  run  no  risk  yourself;  for  warning 
me?" 

"  Oh  no,  sir.     I  just  showed  a  customer  to  the  docks." 

"  And  I'm  very  much  obliged.     Good-bye." 

"  Good-bye,  sir.  Oh,  sir,  I'm  much  honoured  in- 
deed, sir.  I  hope  we  shall  meet  again,  sir." 

"  Well,  if  we  don't,  we  shall  think  of  each  other, 
shan't  we  ? " 

"  Oh  yes,  sir." 

"  And  I  shall  be  on  the  Main,  and  you'll  be  here. 
Here  on  this  spot." 

"  Often,  sir,  I  suppose  I  shall  be.  " 
. "  Good-bye.     There  is  your  soldier  friend,  I  think." 

He  nodded  carelessly  towards  the  bend  of  the  road; 
then  made  a  half -bow  to  the  shopman,  and  stepped  into 
the  boat. 

"  Shove  off,"  he  said.  "  Back  a  stroke,  port  oars. 
Down  starboard  and  shove  her  off."  As  he  placed  the 
boat-rug  over  his  knees,  he  heard  the  hoofs  of  horses 


78  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

trotting  on  the  road.  "  Give  way  together,"  he  said 
coldly,  as  the  boat  swung  round.  He  glanced  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  shopman,  half  expecting  to  see  the 
officers  beside  him.  Then  he  turned  to  his  boat's  crew. 
"  Come.  Shake  her  up.  Shake  her  up,"  he  said. 
"  Rally  her  out.  Give  way,  now.  Put  your  backs  into 
it.  Come  on,  now.  Toss  her  up." 

The  stroke  quickened,  the  boat  gathered  way;  she 
shot  out  into  the  harbour,  spreading  a  ripple.  She  was 
a  hundred  yards  out,  keeping  a  fine  steady  stroke, 
when  Captain  Margaret  turned  again.  He  saw  the 
figure  of  the  shopman  pointing  towards  him,  while  a 
man  on  horseback  stood  at  his  side  looking  towards 
the  boat.  Another  horseman  was  galloping  fast  back 
to  town,  evidently  to  get  a  boat  at  the  landing-stage. 

"  They  aren't  very  clever,  these  soldiers,"  he  thought ; 
"  but  I've  had  a  little  luck  to-day.  Or  was  it  luck  ? 
Who  knows  ?  It  may  not  have  been  luck,  after  all. 
It  may  have  been  anything  but  that." 

He  drew  from  the  stern-locker  a  little  flag  nailed 
to  a  batten.  He  tied  a  knot  in  the  flag. 

"  What  are  you  doing  that  for  ? "  said  Olivia,  as  he 
waved  the  "  weft  "  in  the  air. 

"  It's  a  signal  to  Cammock,"  he  said,  "  to  get  his 
anchor  up,  and  to  make  sail.  He'll  pick  us  up  on  his 
way  out.  There  goes  his  gun.  He's  seen  us." 

"  Rather  hurried,  isn't  it  ?  "  said  Olivia. 

"  It  makes  the  hands  smart,"  he  answered  evasively. 
"  I  wonder  if  the  fort  will  salute  us  as  the  man-of-war 
did." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Olivia. 

"  They  very  likely  will,"  he  answered.  "  Come. 
Toss  her  up,  boys." 

"  That  was  a  funny  little  man  from  the  shop,"  said 
Olivia. 


OUTWAKDS  79 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  But  he  told  me  some  interesting 
things.  Very  interesting." 

They  talked  no  more  after  that  till  the  Broken  Heart, 
under  a  cloud  of  canvas,  came  reeling  down  to  them, 
to  back  her  mainyard  within  hail,  and  hoist  them  all 
aboard. 

"  Good-bye,  old  England,"  said  Olivia. 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret.     "  And  thank  the  Lord  it  is." 


IV 

A   CABIN    COUNCIL 

"  Captain  Chilver's  gone  to  sea. 

Ay,  boys,  0,  boys. 
Captain  Chilver's  gone  to  sea 
In  the  brave  '  Benjamin.'  " 

Captain  Chilver. 

THE  wind  had  gone  down  gradually  all  through 
the  day.  The  morning's  rain  had  kept  down 
the  sea.  When  the  Broken  Heart  "  took  her 
departure  "  that  evening,  from  the  distant  Lizard,  Cap- 
tain Cammock  crossed  his  main  royal,  out  of  lightness 
of  heart.  He  had  a  fair  wind  and  clear  weather.  He 
was  thankful  to  have  escaped  arrest  at  Falmouth, 
"  He  was  within  smell  of  Virginia,"  he  said ;  so  now  he 
would  crack  on  and  drive  her,  sending  her  lee-ports 
under.  The  three  days  of  storm  had  been  of  use  to  him. 
They  had  shaken  the  hands  into  shape,  and  had  bettered 
the  ship's  trim.  ]STow,  he  flattered  himself,  he  knew 
what  his  ship  would  do,  and  what  his  men  could  do. 
He  was  ready  for  the  Western  Ocean.  The  guns  were 
housed,  their  breeches  down  on  the  carriage-beds,  their 
tompioned  muzzles  lashed  to  the  upper  port  sills.  The 
light  brass  quarter-deck  guns  were  covered  with  tar- 
paulin. Life-lines  were  stretched  fore  and  aft  across 
the  waist.  Windsails  were  set.  There  were  handy- 
billies  hooked  along  the  hammock  nettings  ready  for 
use.  Forward,  on  the  fo'c's'le-head,  the  hands  had 

80 


A  CABIN  COUNCIL  81 

gathered  to  dry  the  clothes  soaked  in  the  storm.  Some 
of  the  hands,  lying  to  windward,  against  the  forward 
guns,  began  to  sing  one  of  their  sea  ballads,  a  dreary 
old  ballad  with  a  chorus,  about  the  bonny  coasts  of  Bar- 
bary.  Old  Mr.  Cottrill  had  the  dogwatch.  The  other 
mate,  Mr.  lies,  a  little  "  hard  case  "  from  the  James 
River,  was  playing  his  fiddle  on  the  booby-hatch,  just 
abaft  the  main-bitts.  He  sang  a  plaintive  ditty  to  the 
music ;  and  though  he  did  not  sing  well  he  had  listeners 
who  thought  his  singing  beautiful.  Several  of  the 
hands,  as  he  knew  very  well,  were  skulking  as  far  aft 
as  they  dared,  to  catch  his  linked  sweetness  as  it  fell 
from  him.  Cocking  one  leg  over  the  other,  he  began 
another  song  with  a  happy  ending,  no  particular  mean- 
ing, and  a  certain  blitheness : — 

I  put  it  up  with  a  country  word. 
Tradoodle. 

"  There,"  he  said.  "  There,  steward.  Gee.  Hey  ? 
I  can  sing  all  right,  all  right.  What's  that  song  youse 
was  singing?  You  know.  That  one  about  the  girl 
with  the  wig?" 

"  Oh,  seh,"  said  the  old  negro,  Mr.  Iles's  chief  lis- 
tener. "  Oh,  seh.  I  can't  sing  with  music.  I  haven't 
had  the  occasionals  to  do  that,  seh." 

"  By  gee,  steward,"  said  Mr.  lies,  turning  to  go  below 
to  his  cabin  in  the  'tween-decks,  "  if  you  can't  sing  to 
music,  b'  gee  I  don't  think  you  can  sing  much." 
.Mr.  Cottrill  turned  to  Captain  Cammock. 

"  A  smart  young  sailor,  sir,"  he  said.  "  Mr.  lies 
keeps  'em  going,  sir." 

"  Yes,"  said  Cammock.  "  He  knows  a  lot  for  his 
age.  A  smart  young  man,  Mr.  lies,  as  you  say,  mister. 
He  fiddles  pretty,  too." 

"  I  don't  hold  with  fiddling  in  a  man,"  said  Mr.  Cot- 


82  CAPTAIN  MAEGAEET 

trill.  "  It's  not  natural.  But  it  keeps  the  mind  em- 
ployed, they  say." 

"  Yes,"  said  Cammock,  "  and  so  does  making  up 
tunes.  Did  you  never  make  up  tunes,  when  you  was 
a  boy,  mister,  walking  the  poop  ?  " 

"  I  come  in  like  a  head  sea,"  said  Mr.  Cottrill. 
"  The  only  times  I  walked  the  poop  was  to  relieve  the 
helm,  or  to  take  in  the  mizen." 

"  Well.  And  ain't  you  glad  ? "  said  Cammock. 
"  It's  the  only  way  to  learn." 

"  It  is  that,  sir,"  said  Cottrill.  "  I  guess,  sir,"  he 
added,  "  if  this  wind  holds,  we'll  be  out  of  sight  of  land 
by  dawn." 

The  boy  reported  eight  bells. 

"  Make  it,"  said  Cottrill. 

The  boy  struck  the  bell  eight  times. 

"  You  boy,"  said  Cammock,  "  when  you  walk  the  lee 
poop  at  night,  you'll  not  go  clump,  clump,  the  way 
you  done  last  night.  There's  a  lady  in  the  cabin.  Let 
me  see  what  boots  you're  wearing.  I  thought  so. 
They're  the  kind  of  boots  would  wear  a  hole  in  a  wall. 
Hold  up  them  soles,  and  give  us  the  end  of  the  main- 
brace  there.  There,  my  son.  I  give  you  the  end  this 
time.  You  wear  them  boots  after  dark  again,  and 
you'll  get  the  bight,  higher  up." 

The  watch  was  mustered  and  set.  Captain  Cam- 
mock  went  below,  pleased  to  think  that  he  had  saved 
Olivia  from  the  trouble  of  complaining  about  the  boy. 

He  went  direct  to  the  great  cabin;  for  he  knew 
that  there  was  to  be  a  council  of  war.  There  was  much 
to  be  discussed;  there  was  much  for  him  to  tell  them. 
He  hoped  very  much  that  his  sea-sick  friend  Tom 
Stukeley  would  be  put  in  a  watch.  "  And  then,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "  you  shall  toe  the  line."  In  the  cabin 
he  found  Perrin  and  Margaret  playing  some  simple 


A  CABIN  COUNCIL  83 

card-game  with  Olivia,  for  counters.  Stukeley  lay  at 
half-length  upon  the  window-seat,  sipping  brandy.  He 
was  evidently  cured  of  his  sickness ;  though  very  weak 
from  it. 

He  looked  up  as  Cammock  entered,  took  a  good  pull 
at  his  drink,  and  called  to  Margaret. 

"  You  were  going  to  have  some  sort  of  parish  meeting 
here.  Here's  the  beadle.  Suppose  you  begin,  and  get 
it  over." 

He  took  another  pull  at  the  brandy.  "  Take  a  seat, 
beadle,"  he  said  insolently. 

Perrin  and  Margaret  bit  their  lips,  and  slowly,  almost 
fearfully,  lifted  their  eyes  to  Cammock's  face.  The 
old  pirate  had  turned  purple  beneath  his  copper;  but 
Olivia's  presence  bridled  him.  He  looked  at  Stukeley 
for  a  moment,  then  spun  round  on  one  heel,  in  the  way 
he  had  learned  in  some  ship's  forecastle,  and  walked 
out  of  the  cabin. 

"  I  must  get  my  charts,"  he  said  thickly. 

"  Stukeley,"  said  Margaret  lightly,  "  Captain  Cam- 
mock  is  the  captain  of  this  ship." 

"  Yes,"  said  Stukjley.  "  And  I  wish  he  knew  his 
place  as  well  as  I  know  it." 

"  I  must  ask  you  to  remember  that  he  commands 
here." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Olivia,  rather  nettled. 

"  I  hope,  Stukeley,"  said  Perrin,  "  I  hope  you  won't 
quarrel  with  him.  We're  going  a  long  voyage  together." 

"  Lord,"  said  Stukeley.  "  What  a  stew  you  two 
make.  You  might  be  two  old  women." 

"  Tom  dear,"  said  Olivia,  "  is  that  open  window  too 
much  for  you  ?  " 

In  the  diversion  caused  by  the  shutting  of  the  win- 
dow, Captain  Cammock  took  his  seat,  laying  a  book  of 
charts  on  the  table  before  him.  "  Now,  Captain  Mar- 


84 

garet,  sir.  Will  you  begin  ?  I  don't  rightly  know  what 
it  is  you  want  discussed." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Margaret.     "  I'll  begin." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  looked  first  at  Olivia, 
then  at  Stukeley,  then  at  Cammock,  who,  he  thought, 
looked  very  splendid,  with  his  long  black  hair  falling 
over  his  shoulders,  and  his  grim  beauty,  like  a  bronze, 
thrusting  from  his  scarlet  scarf. 

"  I  don't  think  you  know,"  he  said,  "  at  any  rate, 
not  perfectly,  what  it  is  I  intend  doing.  This  ship  is 
mine,  as  I  think  you  all  know.  But  her  cargo  —  it's  a 
general  cargo,  worth  a  good  deal  of  money  where  we 
are  going  to  —  is  the  property  of  several  London  mer- 
chants, who  expect  me  to  make  a  profit  for  them.  I 
want  you  to  get  it  out  of  your  heads  that  I'm  doing 
this  for  love,  either  of  adventure,  or  of  my  fellow-men. 
I  believe  I  shall  get  adventure,  and  help  my  fellow-men. 
But  the  venture  is,  primarily,  a  business  venture.  If 
the  business  part  fails,  the  whole  thing  will  come  to 
nothing.  As  you  know,  a  part  of  the  cargo  is  con- 
signed to  Virginia,  and  we  go  to  Virginia  direct.  But 
we  shall  only  stay  there  long  enough  to  buy  up  the 
pick  of  the  tobacco  crop  with  our  goods,  and  take  in 
fresh  water.  Our  real  destination  is  the  Isthmus  of 
Darien." 

"  What  part  of  the  Isthmus,  sir  ?  "  said  Cammock. 

"  You'll  have  to  tell  us  that.  Fill  Captain  Cam- 
mock's  glass,  Perrin." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Perrin,"  said  Cammock.  He 
bowed  to  Olivia  and  drank.  "  Go  on,  sir." 

"  You  see,"  continued  Margaret.  "  Well  I  must 
apologize,  captain.  It  was  part  of  my  arrangement 
with  Captain  Cammock  that  he  should  not  be  told  about 
our  destination,  nor  about  our  plans,  till  we  had  left 
England.  I  need  hardly  say,  captain,  that  that  was 


A  CABIN  COUNCIL  85 

not,  well,  not  my  desire.  The  merchants  who  consigned 
the  cargo  insisted  on  it.  To  tell  the  truth,  it  was  only 
on  the  pledge  of  secrecy  that  the  Board  of  Trade  and 
Plantations  gave  me  my  commission." 

"  Then  you've  got  a  commission,  sir  ?  "  said  Cam- 
mock. 

'"Yes.  A  limited  one.  But  still.  Had  our  plans 
been  bruited  abroad,  we  should  have  had  a  lot  of  op- 
position." 

"  Who'd  have  taken  the  sweat  to  lift  a  finger  to  stop 
you  ?  "  said  Stukeley. 

"  The  West  Indian  merchants,"  replied  Margaret. 
"  And  the  Chartered  Brazil  Wood  Company,  and  the 
Spanish  ambassador,  among  others,  would  have  given 
us  a  lot  of  opposition.  In  fact,  had  the  Spaniards 
known  of  it,  we  might  have  spared  ourselves  the  trouble 
of  sailing." 

"  Hear,  hear,  sir,"  said  Cammock  quietly. 

"  Our  friend  the  beadle  knows  his  job,"  said  Stuke- 
ley. 

"  Fill  Captain  Cammock's  glass,  Edward." 

"  Fill  mine,  too,  please,  waiter,"  said  Stukeley. 

"  To  continue,"  said  Margaret.  "  Had  the  Span- 
iards known,  we  should  have  found  the  place  of  our 
intended  settlement  in  the  hands  of  Spanish  troops." 

"  Settlement  ?  "  said  Stukeley. 

"  Yes.  A  settlement.  To  be  short,  my  plan  is  to 
land  on  the  Isthmus,  found  an  English  colony,  and 
open  up  a  trade,  a  real  trade,  mind  you,  with  the  In- 
dians of  Darien.  Now  that  is  the  rough  outline  of  the 
scheme.  Now,  Captain  Cammock.  Now  comes  your 
part.  I'm  going  to  cross-examine  you.  You  know  the 
Isthmus  thoroughly.  Have  you  landed  on  the  Main? 
I  know  you  have,  of  course,  But  we  must  begin  at  the 
beginning." 


86  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  I  been  there  a  many  times,  right  along.  Mostly 
looking  for  food,"  said  Cammock. 

"  Did  you  ever  meet  the  Indians  ?  " 

"  I've  been  up  agin  all  kinds  of  Indians." 

"  Are  there  many  kinds  ?  " 

"  There's  three  kinds." 

"  Three  ?     What  are  the  three  ?  " 

"  I  don't  mind  telling  you,  sir.  There's  one  kind 
comes  and  says,  l  O  Sieur,'  and  brings  you  these  great 
bananas  and  spears  fish  for  you.  There's  some  sense 
in  them  ones.  Give  'em  a  handful  of  beads  and  they'll 
fill  you  a  pannikin  of  gold  dust.  They're  getting 
spoiled,  of  course,  like  everything  else.  But  where  they 
ain't  been  got  at  they're  good  still.  That's  one  kind." 

"  And  the  others  ?  " 

"  There's  another  kind  no  one  seen.  They  say  they're 
white,  this  second  kind.  They  live  in  the  woods;  in 
stone  houses,  too,  for  the  matter  of  that.  And  they 
wear  gold  masks.  No  one  ever  seen  'em,  mind  you. 
But  you  lay  out  in  the  woods  near  'em,  and  the  first 
night  you'll  hear  like  singing  all  round  you." 

"Singing?" 

"  Like  little  birds.  I  never  like  singing  like  what 
that  is.  You  only  get  it  the  first  night." 

"  Oh.     That's  very  curious.     What  happens  then  ?  " 

"  The  second  night,  if  you  lay  out  in  the  woods,  you 
get  your  'ed  cut  off.  You  find  your  corp  in  the  morn- 
ing, that's  what  you  find." 

"  Why  do  they  cut  your  head  off  ?  "  said  Perrin. 

"  Their  idea  of  fun,  I  s'pose,"  said  Cammock,  with  a 
grin.  "  Come  to  that,  a  corp  is  a  funny  thing  with  no 
'ed.  They  take  the  'eds  and  pickle  them  after:  I've 
seen  'em." 

"  What  do  they  do  with  the  heads  ?  "  asked  Perrin, 
"  when  they've  pickled  them  ?  " 


A  CABIN  COUNCIL  87 

"  They  wear  'em  round  their  necks,  for  ornament," 
said  Cammock.  "  If  one  of  them  ducks  gets  a  reglar 
necklace,  like  a  dozen  'eds,  he  thinks  he's  old  Sir 
Henry." 

"Sir  Henry?" 

"  Like  a  Admiral,"  explained  the  buccaneer. 

"  Ah.     And  what's  the  third  kind  ?  " 

"  I  don't  mind  telling  you.  I  was  cruising  one  time. 
I  was  with  an  English  crew,  too.  And  four  of  our  men 
went  ashore  there,  near  Cape  Codera.  They  didn't 
come  back,  so  we  went  to  look  for  them.  We  found 
ashes,  where  a  fire'd  been.  And  we  found  hands,  lying 
in  the  ashes." 

"  Hands  ?  "  said  Perrin. 

"  With  fingers  on  them,  some  of  them,"  said  the 
pirate  calmly.  "  Some  of  them  was  ate  all  off.  And 
there  was  a  skull  lying.  And  bits  of  one  man  tied  to 
a  tree.  I've  never  liked  Indians  from  that  day,  not 
what  you  might  call  love  them." 

"  So  that's  the  third  kind,"  said  Captain  Margaret. 
"  I  take  it  that  these  two  last  kinds  don't  suffer  much 
from  the  Spaniards  ?  " 

"  Not  unless  sometimes  they  get  a  tough  one,"  said 
the  pirate,  "  they  don't." 

"  And  the  other  kind,  the  first  kind  ?  " 

"  They're  melancholy  ducks.  No  use  at  all,"  said 
Cammock.  "  Of  course  they  suffer.  It's  a  wonder  to 
me  they  don't  get  it  worse.  They'd  ought  to.  If  it 
rained  soup  they'd  be  going  out  with  forks.  They  ain't 
got  the  sense  we  have,  or  something.  '  O  Sieur,'  they 
say.  The  French  taught  'em  that.  '  O  Sieur.'  '  Come 
and  kick  us,'  that's  what  it  really  amounts  to."  He 
looked  at  Olivia,  half  fearing  that  she  would  be  shocked. 

"  Could  they  do  anything,  under  a  capable  man,  do 
you  think  ?  "  said  Perrin. 


90  CAPTAIN  MARGAKET 

"Sing?" 

"  Just  sing.  This  was  what  he  sung.  He  sung  all 
the  time.  No.  He  didn't  laugh.  He  just  whined  a 
little  and  sang." 

The  pirate  dropped  his  voice  to  a  whimper  and 
sang :  — 

"  Tom,  Tom,  the  piper's  son, 
Learned  to  pipe  when  he  was  young, 
And  all  the  tunes  that  he  could  play 
Was  over  the  hills  and  far  away. 

There's  many  like  handsome  Jim.  I've  knowed  a  many 
go  that  way.  The  Main's  a  hard  place,  the  same  as  the 
sea  is,  if  you  come  to  that." 

"  Ah,"  said  Perrin.     "  How  ghastly." 

Captain  Margaret  said  nothing;  for  in  his  lively 
fancy  he  saw  a  half-naked  man,  lying  on  the  deck,  sur- 
rounded by  pirates,  who  watched  him  with  a  sort  of 
hard  pity.  The  sun  shone  strongly  upon  the  picture, 
so  that  the  brass  cannon  gleamed.  Out  of  the  wrecked 
man's  body  came  a  snatch  of  a  nursery  rhyme,  with  a 
pathetic  tune.  He  felt  the  horror  of  it;  he  saw  how 
the  pirates  shifted  on  their  feet  and  looked  at  each 
other.  He  was  tempted  to  ask,  "  Had  one  of  your  men 
a  hare-lip  ? "  for  in  the  picture  which  his  fancy  formed 
a  hare-lipped  pirate  stood  out  strangely,  seemingly 
stirred  by  that  horror  on  the  deck.  "  Fancy,"  he 
thought.  "  Pure  fancy." 

"  Let  me  fill  your  glass,  Cammock,"  he  said.  He 
poured  another  dose  into  the  glass. 

"  Salue,"  said  the  pirate. 

A  red  log,  burned  through,  fell  with  a  crash  inside  the 
stove. 

"  Sparks,"  said  the  pirate.  "  Sparks.  We  give  the 
Dagoes  sparks  for  that  lot."  He  paused  a  moment. 


A  CABIN  COUNCIL  91 

"  Yes,  Captain  Margaret,"  he  went  on.  "  And  that's 
the  way  you'd  best." 

"  What  way  is  that  ?  "  asked  the  captain. 

"Well.  It's  like  this,"  said  the  captain.  "Your 
trading  lay  —  I'm  speaking  as  a  sailor,  you  under- 
stand —  is  all  Barney's  bull.  It's  got  more  bugs  than 
brains,  as  you  might  say.  But  you  don't  want  to  go 
trading.  What  d'yer  want  to  go  trading  for?  You'd 
only  get  et  by  sand-flies,  even  if  you  did  make  a  profit. 
What  you  want  to  do.  You  got  a  big  ship.  You'd 
easy  get  hands  enough.  Well,  what  I  say  is,  why  not 
go  for  one  of  the  towns?  Morgan  done  it.  Sharp 
done  it.  Old  John  Coxon  done  it,  for  I  was  with  him. 
And  the  French  and  Dutch  done  it,  too;  don't  I  know 
it.  If  you  come  on  'em  with  a  sort  of  a  hawky  pounce 
you  get  'em  every  time.  Profit,  too.  There's  twenty 
or  thirty  pound  a  man  in  it.  Besides  ransoms. 
There's  no  work  in  it,  like  in  trading.  If  you're  trad- 
ing, you  got  to  watch  your  stores,  you  got  to  watch  the 
Indians,  you  got  to  kowtow  to  the  chiefs.  Pah.  It's  a 
poor  job,  trade  is.  It's  not  a  seaman's  job.  But  you 
come  down  on  the  towns.  Why.  Half  your  life.  I 
wish  I'd  been  wise  when  I  was  a  young  man.  That's 
what  I  ought  to  a  done,  'stead  of  logwood  cutting." 

"  What  towns  would  you  advise  ?  "  said  Captain  Mar- 
garet, smiling. 

"  Well.  Here's  a  map."  Cammock  opened  his 
book  to  show  a  map  of  the  Terra  Firme  from  La  Vera 
Cruz  to  Trinidad.  "  It's  rough,"  he  explained.  "  But 
it'll  just  show  you.  All  them  red  dots  is  towns.  And 
what  I  say  is,  take  them.  That's  the  only  way  you'll 
help  the  Indians,  as  you  call  it.  Help  them  ?  You 
won't  help  them  much  when  you  get  among  them,  I'll 
tell  you  that  much.  The  Main  alters  people." 

"  Oh,"  said  Margaret  quietly.     "  So  that's  what  you 


92  CAPTAIN  MARGAKET 

think.  Why  do  you  think  that?  What  reason  can 
you  give  ? " 

"  Well,  take  it  on  military  grounds,  sir,"  said  Cam- 
mock.  "  You'll  have  to  admit  it  on  military  grounds." 

Stukeley  pretended  to  choke  with  laughter;  it  was 
an  offensive  act. 

"  Stukeley's  turning  sick  again,"  said  Perrin  dryly. 

"  Well.  On  military  grounds  then,"  said  Margaret. 
"  I  want  to  hear  your  reason." 

"  Look,  sir.  Look  at  my  two  fists.  This  right  fist, 
here,  is  Carta-Yaina.  This  left  fist  is  Portobel  or  La 
Vera  Cruz.  Now  these  here  counters.  You'll  excuse 
my  taking  your  counters,  Mrs.  Stukeley.  These  here 
counters  are  the  Samballoes  islands  in  between.  Now. 
On  military  grounds.  Suppose  I  knock  my  fists  to- 
gether. The  counters  get  a  nasty  jounce." 

"  I  see,"  said  Margaret.  "  We  should  be  the  nut 
between  two  crackers." 

"  Yes,  sir.  You  would.  And  take  it  as  a  matter  of 
business.  You'd  be  on  the  trade  route,  or  jolly  near  it, 
between  the  crackers;  besides  being  able  to  flank  the 
overland  route  from  Panama  to  Portobel.  They'd 
never  set  still  to  let  you  establish  yourself  among  them. 
Why,  you'd  as  well  ask  them  to  cut  their  own  throats. 
You'd  have  to  destroy  their  towns  first.  Portobel's 
nothing  very  much.  It's  been  took  twice  within  the 
last  few  years ;  but  you  can  never  really  settle  Portobel 
till  you  settle  Panama;  and  to  do  that  you'd  want  a 
fleet  in  the  South  Sea  to  settle  Lima.  To  make  yourself 
secure.  Quite  secure.  Secure  enough  for  the  King 
of  England  to  back  you  up.  You  know  what  that  means. 
The  enemy  beat,  and  the  spoils  your  own,  that's  what 
makes  King  James  your  friend.  God  save  him,  I  say, 
and  bring  him  glory.  TO  put  yourself  in  that  position, 
you'd  have  to  take  the  two  big  naval  ports  on  the  North 


A  CABIN  COUNCIL  93 

Sea,  both  of  them.  Carta-Yaina  and  La  Vera  Cruz. 
For  jabbing  an  enemy's  no  use  at  all.  A  prick  here  and 
there's  nothing.  Nothing  at  all.  Smash  the  naval 
ports  first,  and  then  the  place  is  your  own.  Go  for  the 
main  stem  and  you'll  get  the  whole  tree.  Upset  Carta- 
Yaina  alone,  and  La  Vera  Cruz  wouldn't  bother  you 
very  bad ;  but  till  Carta-Yaina's  yours Well,  hon- 
estly, Captain  Margaret,  you'll  never  be  let  settle  down, 
not  on  the  Isthmus.  But.  I  don't  know  so  much.  It 
might.  I'll  think  it  over." 

During  Cammock's  speech,  Stukeley  had  made  occa- 
sional offensive  interruptions ;  but  he  said  nothing  when 
Cammock  ended.  Olivia,  being  ignorant  of  the  exact 
nature  of  the  question  discussed,  through  her  ignorance 
of  geography,  waited  for  her  husband  to  speak.  Perrin, 
who  had  gone  into  the  matter  thus  far  with  Margaret, 
to  his  own  boredom,  now  waited,  half  asleep,  for  his 
friend  to  say  something  more.  He  hoped  that  no  one 
would  ask  him  for  an  opinion  that  evening.  He  knew 
nothing  much  about  it,  one  way  or  the  other,  and  cared 
little;  believing  only  that  his  friend,  who  could  do  no 
wrong,  would  be  the  man  to  uphold  against  all  comers. 
As  the  active  part  of  him,  never  very  violent  now,  was 
idle  to-night,  he  gave  himself  up  to  torpor,  keeping  his 
mind  a  blank,  paying  little  attention  to  the  words  of 
any  one.  To  Cammock,  whom  he  liked,  he  was  polite. 
Indeed,  Cammock's  glass  was  seldom  less  than  half- 
full  all  through  the  evening.  Now  and  then  he  wished 
that  the  meeting  would  end,  so  that  he  could  turn  in. 
He  lay  back  in  his  chair,  looking  at  the  faces  of  the 
company,  wishing  that  he  had  his  friend's  charm,  and 
Cammock's  bodily  strength,  and  Stukeley's  insolent  car- 
riage. It  must  be  good,  he  thought,  to  be  indifferent, 
like  that,  to  people's  feelings.  And  if  he  had  all  three 
gifts,  what  would  he  do  with  it  ?  He  looked  at  Olivia, 


94  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

as  she  sat  there,  upright  in  her  chair,  listening  carefully 
to  all  that  he  said.  "  Yes/'  he  thought,  "  you're  taking 
it  all  in,  all  that  you  understand,  and  thinking  what 
you'll  make  your  husband  do.  And  you're  beautiful," 
he  added  to  himself.  "In  that  black  silk,  with  the 

green  about  your  hair,  you're Yes,  Charles  was 

right.  I  never  saw  it  before.  You're  beautiful." 

"  Olivia,"  he  said  aloud.  "  will  you  let  me  get  you  a 
little  wine  and  some  fruit  \  This  must  be  so  awfully 
dull  for  you." 

"  Oh,  I  like  it,"  she  answered  quickly.     "  I  like  it." 

"  Do  you,  really  ?  "  said  Margaret.  "  Well.  We'll 
go  on.  Let  me  see  your  map,  Captain  Cammock." 

He  took  the  dirty  piece  of  vellum  from  Captain  Cam- 
mock,  and  examined  the  coast-line.  There  were  manu- 
script notes  written  here  and  there  across  the  Isthmus. 
Captain  Margaret  read :  "  Don  Andrea's  Cuntrey." 
"  K  Golden  Cap  went  with  Capt  S  from  here."  "  The 
Indians  washes  for  Gold  on  this  Side."  Mountains 
and  forests  had  been  added  to  the  map  in  water-colours. 
A  ship  or  two,  under  all  plain  sail,  showed  upon  the 
seas.  In  among  the  islands  a  hand  had  added  sound- 
ings and  anchorages  in  red  ink.  He  looked  among  the 
network  of  islands,  remembering  the  many  stories  he 
had  read  of  them,  fascinated  by  the  thought  that  here, 
before  him,  was  one  who  could  make  that  marked  piece 
of  vellum  significant. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said.  "  These  keys  here.  La  Sound's 
Key  and  Springer's  Key.  Are  they  well  known  to 
your  people  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  pirate. 

"  Do  the  Spaniards  ever  search  among  these  islands  ? 
Do  they  send  guarda-costas  ?  " 

"  Not  them.  Not  to  hurt.  They've  no  really  organ- 
ized force  on  the  Main.  Nor've  they  got  any  charts  to 


A  CABIN  COUNCIL  95 

go  by.  They  aren't  hard  any  longer.  Only  soft,  the 
Spaniards.  Why,  there's  often  a  matter  of  a  dozen 
sail  of  privateers  come  to  them  keys,  at  the  one 
time." 

"  Why  do  they  come  there  ?  " 

"  Water,  sir.  Then  the  Indians  bring  gold  dust. 
Sometimes  they  land  and  go  for  a  cruise  ashore.  Lots 
of  'em  make  money  that  way,  where  the  Spaniards 
don't  expect  them." 

"  Have  they  buildings  there  ?  " 

"  No.  When  they  careen  their  ships,  the  Indians 
build  huts  for  them.  Very  nice,  too,  the  huts  are. 
Palmeto  and  that." 

"  Then  the  Indians  are  friendly  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Sometimes  there's  a  row,  of  course." 

"  Why  don't  the  privateers  combine,  to  found  a  king- 
dom there?  They  could  so  easily." 

"  They  never  agree  among  'emselves,"  said  the  pirate. 
"  Quarrelsome  ducks.  That's  what  they  are." 

"  And  if  a  strong  man  got  hold  of  them  and  made 
them  agree  ?  " 

"  Then.  Yes.  Perhaps.  They  might  be  a  thunder- 
ing great  nation.  But  then  there's  the  Main.  It 
changes  people.  It's  hard  to  say.  It's  different  from 
talking  by  the  fire." 

"  Well,"  said  Captain  Margaret.  "  I  shall  try  it.  I 
believe  it  could  be  done.  And  it's  worth  trying." 

"  I  believe  you'd  do  it,  if  any  one.  Morgan'd  'ave 
done  it  perhaps.  But  Sir  Henry  was  weak  you  know. 
Hum.  Well,  sir.  If  you  can  do  it.  You'll  be  in  the 
story-books." 

"  What  is  this  place  here  ?  This  Boca  del  Toro  ? 
Away  to  the  west  here  ?  You  sometimes  meet  here, 
don't  you,  in  order  to  plan  a  raid  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 


90  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  Is  it  a  good  anchorage  ?  It  doesn't  seem  to  be 
much  of  a  harbour." 

"  No,  sir ;  Toro's  just  an  anchorage,  out  of  the  way, 
like.  We  goes  to  Toro  for  turtle.  Very  good  turtle 
on  Toro.  Them  Mosquito  boys  gets  'em  with  spears. 
You  see  'em  paddle  out,  Mrs.  Stukeley,  two  of  these  red 
Indians  in  a  boat,  and  they  just  paddle  soft,  paddle 
soft,  as  still  as  still,  and  they  come  up  to  the  turtles  as 
they  lie  asleep  in  the  sea,  and  then.  Whang.  They 
dart  their  fizgigs.  They  never  miss." 

Olivia  looked  at  Cammock  with  quickened  interest; 
but  she  did  not  speak.  She  was  now  leaning  forward, 
over  the  table,  resting  her  chin  upon  her  hands,  prob- 
ably with  some  vague  belief  that  her  throat  was  beauti- 
ful and  that  these  stupid  men  would  never  notice  it. 
She  may  have  been  conscious  of  her  power.  Yet  per- 
haps she  was  not.  She  may  have  given  too  much  of 
herself  to  Stukeley;  she  may  have  tuned  too  many  of 
her  emotional  strings  to  that  one  note,  to  feel  how 
other  men  regarded  her. 

"  Look,  Olivia,"  said  Margaret.  He  placed  the  map 
before  her. 

Perrin  and  Cammock  put  out  each  a  hand,  to  hold 
the  curling  vellum  flat  for  her.  She  looked  at  the  map 
as  a  sibyl  would  have  looked  at  the  golden  scroll;  she 
looked  rapt ;  her  great  eyes  shone  so.  She  put  out  one 
hand  to  flatten  the  vellum,  and  to  Margaret,  watching 
her,  it  seemed  that  her  whole  nature  was  expressed  in 
that  one  act,  and  that  her  nature  was  beautiful,  too 
beautiful  for  this  world.  Her  finger-tip  touched  Per- 
rin's  finger-tip,  for  one  instant,  as  she  smoothed  the 
map's  edge ;  and  to  Perrin  it  seemed  that  his  life  would 
be  well  passed  in  the  service  of  this  lady.  She  was,  oh, 
wonderfully  beautiful,  he  thought;  but  not  like  other 
women.  She  was  so  strange,  so  mysterious,  and  her 


A  CABIN  COUNCIL  97 

voice  thrilled  so.  In  dreams,  in  those  dreams  of  beauty 
which  move  us  for  days  together,  he  had  seen  that  beauty 
before;  she  had  come  to  him,  she  had  saved  him;  her 
healing  hands  had  raised  him,  bringing  him  peace. 
"  She  says  nothing,"  he  said  to  himself ;  "  but  life  is 
often  like  that.  I  have  talked  with  people  sometimes 
whose  bodies  seemed  to  be  corpses.  And  all  the  time 
they  were  wonderful,  possessed  of  devils  and  angels." 

As  for  Cammock,  her  beauty  moved  him,  too;  her 
voice  moved  him.  In  his  thoughts  he  called  her  '*  my 
handsome."  He  was  moved  by  her  as  an  old  gardener 
is  touched  by  the  beauty  of  his  master's  child.  His 
emotion  was  partly  awe,  partly  pity.  Pity  for  him- 
self, partly;  because  he  could  never  now  be  worthy  of 
moving  in  her  company,  although  he  felt  that  he  would 
be  a  better  mate  for  her  than  the  brandy-sipper  on  the 
locker-top.  She  was  the  most  beautiful  thing  he  had 
ever  seen;  she  was  like  a  spirit;  like  a  holy  thing. 
Looking  at  her,  as  she  studied  the  map,  he  thought  of 
an  image  in  the  cathedral  of  Panama.  He  had  been 
with  Morgan  in  the  awful  march  from  Chagres.  He 
had  fought  in  the  morning,  outside  Panama,  till  his 
face,  all  bloody  and  powder-burnt,  was  black  like  a 
devil's.  Then,  he  remembered,  they  had  stormed  old 
Panama,  fighting  in  the  streets,  across  barricades,  over 
tables,  over  broken  chairs,  while  the  women  fired  from 
the  roofs.  Then  they  had  rushed  the  Plaza,  to  see 
the  flames  licking  at  all  the  glorious  city.  They  had 
stormed  a  last  barricade  to  reach  the  Plaza.  There 
had  been  twenty  starving  pirates  with  him,  all  blind 
with  drink  and  rage.  They  had  made  a  last  rush, 
clubbing  and  spearing  and  shooting,  killing  man, 
woman,  and  child.  They  swore  and  shrieked  as  they 
stamped  them  under.  And  then  he,  with  two  mates, 
had  opened  a  postern  in  the  cathedral,  and  had  passed 


90  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  Is  it  a  good  anchorage  ?  It  doesn't  seem  to  be 
much  of  a  harbour." 

"  No,  sir ;  Toro's  just  an  anchorage,  out  of  the  way, 
like.  We  goes  to  Toro  for  turtle.  Very  good  turtle 
on  Toro.  Them  Mosquito  boys  gets  'em  with  spears. 
You  see  'em  paddle  out,  Mrs.  Stukeley,  two  of  these  red 
Indians  in  a  boat,  and  they  just  paddle  soft,  paddle 
soft,  as  still  as  still,  and  they  come  up  to  the  turtles  as 
they  lie  asleep  in  the  sea,  and  then.  Whang.  They 
dart  their  fizgigs.  They  never  miss." 

Olivia  looked  at  Cammock  with  quickened  interest; 
but  she  did  not  speak.  She  was  now  leaning  forward, 
over  the  table,  resting  her  chin  upon  her  hands,  prob- 
ably with  some  vague  belief  that  her  throat  was  beauti- 
ful and  that  these  stupid  men  would  never  notice  it. 
She  may  have  been  conscious  of  her  power.  Yet  per- 
haps she  was  not.  She  may  have  given  too  much  of 
herself  to  Stukeley;  she  may  have  tuned  too  many  of 
her  emotional  strings  to  that  one  note,  to  feel  how 
other  men  regarded  her. 

"  Look,  Olivia,"  said  Margaret.  He  placed  the  map 
before  her. 

Perrin  and  Cammock  put  out  each  a  hand,  to  hold 
the  curling  vellum  flat  for  her.  She  looked  at  the  map 
as  a  sibyl  would  have  looked  at  the  golden  scroll;  she 
looked  rapt ;  her  great  eyes  shone  so.  She  put  out  one 
hand  to  flatten  the  vellum,  and  to  Margaret,  watching 
her,  it  seemed  that  her  whole  nature  was  expressed  in 
that  one  act,  and  that  her  nature  was  beautiful,  too 
beautiful  for  this  world.  Her  finger-tip  touched  Per- 
rin's  finger-tip,  for  one  instant,  as  she  smoothed  the 
map's  edge ;  and  to  Perrin  it  seemed  that  his  life  would 
be  well  passed  in  the  service  of  this  lady.  She  was,  oh, 
wonderfully  beautiful,  he  thought;  but  not  like  other 
women.  She  was  so  strange,  so  mysterious,  and  her 


97 

voice  thrilled  so.  In  dreams,  in  those  dreams  of  beauty 
which  move  us  for  days  together,  he  had  seen  that  beauty 
before;  she  had  come  to  him,  she  had  saved  him;  her 
healing  hands  had  raised  him,  bringing  him  peace. 
"  She  says  nothing,"  he  said  to  himself ;  "  but  life  is 
often  like  that.  I  have  talked  with  people  sometimes 
whose  bodies  seemed  to  be  corpses.  And  all  the  time 
they  were  wonderful,  possessed  of  devils  and  angels." 

As  for  Cammock,  her  beauty  moved  him,  too;  her 
voice  moved  him.  In  his  thoughts  he  called  her  "  my 
handsome."  He  was  moved  by  her  as  an  old  gardener 
is  touched  by  the  beauty  of  his  master's  child.  His 
emotion  was  partly  awe,  partly  pity.  Pity  for  him- 
self, partly;  because  he  could  never  now  be  worthy  of 
moving  in  her  company,  although  he  felt  that  he  would 
be  a  better  mate  for  her  than  the  brandy-sipper  on  the 
locker-top.  She  was  the  most  beautiful  thing  he  had 
ever  seen;  she  was  like  a  spirit;  like  a  holy  thing. 
Looking  at  her,  as  she  studied  the  map,  he  thought  of 
an  image  in  the  cathedral  of  Panama.  He  had  been 
with  Morgan  in  the  awful  march  from  Chagres.  He 
had  fought  in  the  morning,  outside  Panama,  till  his 
face,  all  bloody  and  powder-burnt,  was  black  like  a 
devil's.  Then,  he  remembered,  they  had  stormed  old 
Panama,  fighting  in  the  streets,  across  barricades,  over 
tables,  over  broken  chairs,  while  the  women  fired  from 
the  roofs.  Then  they  had  rushed  the  Plaza,  to  see 
the  flames  licking  at  all  the  glorious  city.  They  had 
stormed  a  last  barricade  to  reach  the  Plaza.  There 
had  been  twenty  starving  pirates  with  him,  all  blind 
with  drink  and  rage.  They  had  made  a  last  rush, 
clubbing  and  spearing  and  shooting,  killing  man, 
woman,  and  child.  They  swore  and  shrieked  as  they 
stamped  them  under.  And  then  he,  with  two  mates, 
had  opened  a  postern  in  the  cathedral,  and  had  passed 


98  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

in,  from  all  those  shrieks,  from  all  that  fire  and  blood, 
to  an  altar,  where  an  image  knelt,  full  of  peace,  beau- 
tiful beyond  words,  in  the  quiet  of  the  holy  place.  He 
remembered  the  faint  smell  of  incense,  the  memory  of 
a  scent,  which  hung  about  that  holy  place.  The  vague 
scent  which  Olivia  used  reminded  him  of  it.  'She 
is  like  that,"  he  thought,  "  and  I  am  that.  That  still." 

Margaret  glanced  at  Stukeley,  who  seemed  to  be 
asleep.  "  I  suppose,  captain,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose, 
then,  that  you  would  recommend  one  of  these  keys  in 
the  Samballoes,  as  you  call  them  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Cammock.  "  I'll  tell  you  why. 
You're  handy  for  the  Indians,  that's  one  great  point. 
You're  hidden  from  to  seaward,  in  case  the  Spanish 
fleet  should  come  near,  going  to  Portobello  fair. 
You're  within  a  week's  march  of  all  the  big  gold  mines. 
You've  good  wood  and  water  handy.  And  you  could 
careen  a  treat,  if  your  ship  got  foul.  Beside  being  nice 
and  central." 

"  Which  of  these  two  keys  do  you  recommend  ? " 

"  La  Sound's  Key  is  the  most  frequented,"  answered 
Cammock.  "  You  often  have  a  dozen  sloops  in  at  La 
Sound's.  They  careen  there  a  lot.  You  see  there's 
mud  to  lay  your  ship  ashore  on.  And  very  good  brush- 
wood if  you  wish  to  give  her  a  breaming." 

"  I  see.     And  the  Indians  come  there,  you  say  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  sir.  There's  an  Indian  village  on  the  Main 
just  opposite.  Full  of  Indians  always.  La  Sound's  is 
an  exchange,  as  you  might  say." 

"  If  I  went  there,  in  this  big  ship,  should  I  be  likely 
to  get  into  touch  with  the  privateer  captains  ?  I  mean, 
to  make  friends  with  them." 

"  You'd  meet  them  all  there,  from  time  to  time,  sir 
—  Coxon,  Tristian,  Yanky  Dutch,  Mackett ;  oh,  all  of 
them." 


A  CABIN  COUNCIL  99 

"  All  friends  of  yours  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  Some  of  them  is  French  and  Dutch. 
They  come  from  Tortuga  and  away  east  by  Curagoa. 
That's  a  point  I  can  tell  you  about.  Don't  you  make 
too  free  with  the  French  and  Dutch,  sir.  You  stick 
by  your  own  countrymen.  I'll  tell  you  why,  sir.  If 
you  let  them  ducks  in  to  share,  the  first  you'll  know  is 
they've  put  in  a  claim  for  their  own  country.  They'll 
say  that  the  settlement  is  theirs;  that  we're  intruding 
on  them.  Oh,  they  will.  I  know  'em.  And  they'll 
trick  you,  too.  They'll  get  their  own  men-of-war  to 
come  and  kick  you  out,  like  they  done  at  St.  Kitts,  and 
at  Tortuga." 

"  That  would  hardly  suit.  But  is  La  Sound's  more 
of  a  French  and  Dutch  resort  than  Springer's  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  Since  Captain  Sharp's  raid.  Ever  since 
that,  we've  been  as  it  were  more  separated.  And  then 
there  was  trouble  at  the  isle  of  Ash;  they  done  us  out 
of  a  sloop ;  so  we  done  them  in  return.  Springer's  is 
the  place  the  Englishmen  goes  to,  now.  Oh,  and  Golden 
Island,  this  easterly  island  here.  But  Springer's  Key 
is  the  best  of  them.  Though  we  goes  to  La  Sound's 
Key,  mind  you,  whenever  we're  planning  a  raid." 

"  Then By  the  way.     Who  is  Springer  ?  " 

"  He  was  a  privateer,  sir.  He  got  lost  on  the  Main 
one  time.  He  was  in  Alleston's  ship  at  that  time. 
He  got  lost,  out  hunting  for  warree.  He  wandered 
around  in  the  woods  there,  living  on  sapadilloes,  till  one 
day  he  come  to  a  river,  and  floated  down  it  on  a  log. 
He'd  sense  enough  for  that.  Generally  men  go  mad  in 
the  woods  at  the  end  of  the  first  day." 

"  Mad,"  said  Olivia.     "  But  why  do  they  do  that  ?  " 

"  It's  the  loneliness,  Mrs.  Stukeley.  You  seem  shut 
in,  in  those  woods.  Shut  in.  A  great  green  wall.  It 
seems  to  laugh  at  you.  And  you  get  afraid,  and  then 


100  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

you  get  thirsty.  Oh,  I've  felt  it.  You  go  mad. 
Lucky  for  you,  you  do,  Mrs.  Stukeley." 

"  How  horrible.     Isn't  that  awful,  Charles  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Awful.  But  Springer  kept  his  head,  you 
say?" 

"  No,  sir.  I'm  inclined  to  think  Springer  got  a  turn. 
The  sun'll  give  it  you.  Or  that  green  wall  laughing; 
or  just  thirst.  When  I  talked  with  Springer,  he  told 
me  as  he  come  to  a  little  stone  city  on  a  hill,  all  grown 
over  with  green.  An  old  ruined  city.  About  a  hun- 
dred houses.  Quite  small.  And  what  d'you  think  was 
in  it,  Mrs.  Stukeley  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  at  all.  Nothing  very  horrible,  I  hope. 
No.  Not  if  it's  going  to  be  horrible." 

"  Well.  It  was  horrible.  But  there  was  gold  on 
every  one  of  them.  Gold  plates.  Gold  masks.  And 
gold  all  over  the  rooms.  Now  if  that's  true,  it's  mighty 
queer.  But  I  think  he'd  got  a  turn,  ma'am.  I  don't 
think  things  was  right  with  Springer.  Living  all  alone 
in  the  woods,  and  then  living  all  alone  on  the  key. 
It  very  likely  put  him  off.  I  was  to  have  gone  with 
him,  searching  for  it,  one  time;  but  I  never  did." 

Stukeley  seemed  to  wake  up  suddenly. 

"  You  must  have  been  a  fool,"  he  said. 

"  Why  ?     Acos  I  thought  of  going  ?  "  said  Cammock. 

"  No.  Because  you  didn't  go.  I  suppose  you  know 
which  river  he  came  down.  And  whereabouts  he  got 
on  the  log  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Cammock ;  "  better  than  I  know  you, 
Mr.  Stukeley." 

"  What  d'you  mean  ?  "  said  Stukeley. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Cammock.  "  The  very  last  time  I 
saw  Ed  Springer,  we  talked  it  all  out.  And  he  told  me 
all  he  remembered,  and  we  worked  it  out  together, 
whereabouts  he  must  have  got  to.  You  see,  Mrs.  Stuke- 


A  CABIN  COUNCIL  101 

ley,  Springer  went  a  long  way.  He  was  lost And 

we  were  going  to  look  for  it  together." 

"Why  didn't  you?"  said  Stukeley.  "Were  you 
afraid  ? " 

"  Yes/'  replied  Cammock  curtly ;  "  I  was." 

Thinking  that  there  would  be  an  open  quarrel,  Cap- 
tain Margaret  interrupted.  "  And  you  think  Spring- 
er's Key  would  be  the  best  for  us  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Here  is  Springer's  Key  on  the  map.  Come  here, 
Stukeley,  and  just  cast  your  eye  over  it." 

Stukeley  advanced,  and  put  his  hand  on  Olivia's 
shoulder,  drawing  her  against  him,  as  he  leaned  over 
to  see  the  map.  She  stroked  the  caressing  hand,  only 
conscious  of  the  pleasure  of  her  husband's  caress.  She 
had  no  thought  of  what  the  sight  meant  to  Margaret. 

Perrin  felt  for  his  friend.  "Put  it  to  the  vote, 
Charles,"  he  said  hastily. 

"  Very  well  then,"  said  Margaret.  "  Shall  we  de- 
cide then  ?  To  go  to  Springer's  Key  ?  " 

"  Is  it  a  pleasant  place  ? "  said  Olivia.  "  Don't, 
Tom."  She  gave  the  hand  a  little  slap. 

"  Very  pleasant,  Mrs.  Stukeley.  A  island  with  huge 
big  cedars  on  it  —  aromatic  cedars  —  as  red  as  blood ; 
and  all  green  parrots.  Wells.  Good  drinking  wells. 
Wonderful  flowers.  If  you're  fond  of  flowers,  ma'am." 

"  What  sorts  are  they  ?  " 

"  Arnotto  roses,  and  yellow  violet  trees.  Oh,  lots  of 
them." 

"  Oh,  then,   Springer's  Key,  certainly." 

"  Springer's  Key,"  said  Stukeley  and  Perrin. 

"  The  ayes  have  it." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  Margaret.  "  We'll  decide 
for  Springer's  Key." 

"  One  other  thing,  sir,"  said  Cammock.     "  There's 


102  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

the  difficulty  about  men.  We've  forty-five  men  in  the 
ship  here,  mustering  boys  and  idlers.  And  that's  not 
enough.  It's  not  enough  to  attract  allies.  Of  course, 
I  quite  see,  if  you'd  shipped  more  in  London,  in  a  ship 
of  this  size,  it  would  have  looked  odd.  It  might  have 
attracted  notice.  The  Spaniards  watch  the  Pool  a 
sight  more'n  you  think.  But  you  want  more.  And 
you  want  choice  weapons  for  them."  He  paused  for 
a  second  to  watch  Captain  Margaret's  face,  then,  seeing 
no  change  upon  it,  continued,  "  I  know  you  got  twenty 
long  brass  eighteens  among  the  ballast." 

"  How  did  you  know  that  ?  "  said  Margaret. 

"  Well,  you  have,  sir,"  said  Cammock,  grinning,  "  and 
small-arms  in  proportion.  You  can  fortify  Springer's 
with  a  third  of  that  lot.  Now  you  want  another  forty 
or  fifty  men,  at  least,  and  then  you'll  be  boss  dog. 
Every  privateer  captain  will  come  saying,  '  Oh,  Massa  ' 
to  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  Pen-in.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  there'll 
be  a  difficulty  in  getting  men.  You  see  we  want  really 
a  drill  force." 

"  No  difficulty  about  men  in  Virginia,  sir.  Lots  of 
good  men,  regular  old  standards,  tough  as  hickory,  at 
Accomac,  and  along  the  James  River." 

"  What  do  they  do  there  ?  "  said  Perrin. 

"  Lots  of  'em  come  there,"  said  Cammock  evasively. 
"  They  tobacco  plants,  and  they  trap  them  things  with 
fur  on,  and  some  on  'em  fishes.  Lots  of  'em  come 
there." 

"  Where  from  ?  "  asked  Captain  Margaret  pointedly. 

"  Most  everywhere,"  said  Cammock,  looking  on  the 
deck. 

"  Campeachy  ?  "  said  the  captain. 

"  Most  everywhere,  sir,"  repeated  Cammock. 

"  Writs  hard  to  serve  there  ?  " 


A  CABIN  COUNCIL  103 

"  Every  one  has  his  misfortunes,"  said  Cammock 
hotly.  "  But  they're  a  better  lot  there  than  you'd  get 
anywhere  in  the  islands,  let  me  tell  you  that.  I've 
known  a  power  of  men  among  them,  fine  men.  They 
might  be  a  bit  rough  and  that;  but  they  do  stand  by  a 
fellow." 

"  Yes,"  said  Captain  Margaret,  "  I  dare  say.  But  I 
don't  want  them  to  stand  by  a  fellow.  I  want  them  to 
stand  by  an  idea." 

"  They'll  stand  by  anything  so  long  as  you've  a  com- 
mission," said  Captain  Cammock. 

"  And  obey  orders  ?  " 

"  Now,  sir.  In  England,  everybody  knuckles  down 
to  squires  and  lords.  But  among  the  privateers  there 
aren't  any  squires  and  lords.  Nor  in  Virginia,  where 
the  old  privateers  tobacco  plants.  A  man  stands  by 
what  he  is  in  himself.  If  you  can  persuade  the  priva- 
teers that  you're  a  better  man  than  their  captains ;  and 
some  of  them  are  clever  generals,  mind.  They've  been 
fighting  Spaniards  all  their  lives.  Well.  You  per- 
suade 'em  that  you're  a  better  man.  You  show  'em 
that.  And  they'll  be  your  partners.  As  for  hands  in 
the  ship  here,  and  ship's  discipline.  They  aren't  par- 
ticularly good  at  being  ordered  about.  They're  accus- 
tomed to  being  free,  and  having  their  share  in  the 
councils.  But  you  give  them  some  little  success  on 
the  Main,  and  you'll  find  they'll  follow  you  anywhere. 
You  give  out  that  you're  going  against  Tolu,  say.  You 
take  Tolu,  say,  and  give  'em  ten  pound  a  man." 

"  Then  they'll  want  to  go  ashore  to  spend  it." 

"  Not  if  you  give  'em  a  dice-box  or  two.  You  won't 
be  able  to  wage  them,  like  you  wage  hands,  at  sixteen 
shillen  a  month." 

Olivia,  who  seemed  disconcerted  at  the  thought  of 
sitting  down  at  a  council  with  a  crowd  of  ragged  sailors, 


104:  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

now  asked  if  it  would  not  be  possible  to  wage  them,  if 
they  explained  the  circumstances. 

"  You  say  they  are  tobacco-planting  in  Virginia.  Why 
should  they  not  plant  on  the  Main  and  supply  all  the 
ships  which  come  to  us,  besides  fighting  the  Spaniards 
when  the  crops  are  growing  ?  " 

"  That's  what  you  must  do,"  said  Cammock.  "  Get 
the  steadiest  men  you  can.  Plant  your  crops,  when 
you've  cleared  a  patch  of  ground.  Hit  the  Spaniards 
hard  at  the  first  try.  That'll  bring  all  the  privateers  to 
you.  Hit  'em  again  hard  at  a  bigger  port;  and  I  do 
believe,  sir,  you'll  have  two  or  three  thousand  skilled 
troops  flocking  to  you.  Old  Mansvelt,  the  old  Dutch- 
man. You  know  who  I  mean.  He  tried  to  do  what 
you  are  trying.  That  was  at  Santa  Katalina.  But  he 
died,  and  Morgan  had  to  do  it  all  over  again.  Then 
Morgan  had  his  chance.  He'd  fifteen  hundred  men  and 
a  lot  of  ships.  He'd  taken  Chagres  and  Porto  Bello. 
He  had  the  whole  thing  in  his  hands.  With  all  the 
spoil  of  Panama  to  back  him  up.  The  Isthmus  was 
ours,  sir.  The  whole  of  Spanish  America  was  in  that 
man's  hands.  But  no.  Come-day-go-day.  He  went 
off  and  got  drunk  in  Port  Royal;  got  a  chill  the  first 
week;  got  laid  up  for  a  time;  then,  when  he  did  get 
better,  he  entered  Jamaica  politics.  The  new  governor 
kept  him  squared.  The  new  governor  was  afraid  of 
him.  But  what  he  done  you  can  do.  You  have  a 
little  success,  and  make  a  name  for  yourself,  and  you'll 
have  a  thousand  men  in  no  time.  That's  enough  to 
drive  the  Spaniards  off  the  North  Sea.  When  you've 
driven  'em  all  off,  the  King'll  step  in.  The  King  of 
England,  I  mean.  He'll  knight  you,  and  give  you  a 
bottle-washing  job  alongside  his  kitchen  sink.  Your 
settlement'll  be  given  to  one  of  these  Sirs  in  Jamaica. 
There,  sir.  I  wish  you  luck." 


A  CABIN  COUNCIL  105 

The  meeting  was  now  broken  up.  Perrin  brought 
from  his  cabin  a  box  of  West  Indian  conserves  and  a 
packet  of  the  famous  Peruvian  sweetmeats.  He  offered 
them  to  Olivia,  then  to  all  the  company.  The  steward 
brought  round  wine  and  strong  Waters.  Mrs.  Inigo, 
passing  through  the  cabin  with  a  curtsey,  left  hot  water 
in  Olivia's  state-room.  She  wore  a  black  gown  and 
white  cap.  She  looked  very  handsome.  She  walked 
with  the  grace  of  the  Cornish  women.  She  reminded 
Captain  Cammock  of  the  Peruvian  ladies  whom  he  had 
captured  before  Arica  battle.  They,  too,  had  worn 
black,  and  had  walked  like  queens.  He  remembered 
how  frightened  they  had  been,  when  they  were  first 
brought  aboard  from  the  prize.  Olivia  followed  Mrs. 
Inigo  into  the  state-room.  "  I  must  just  see  if  she's 
got  everything  she  wants,"  she  murmured.  She  re- 
mained in  the  state-room  for  a  few  minutes  talking 
with  Mrs.  Inigo.  Perrin  noticed  that  Stukeley  looked 
very  hard  at  Mrs.  Inigo  as  she  passed  through  with  the 
jug.  He  decided  that  Stukeley  would  need  watching. 

"  Where  are  you  putting  her  ?  "  said  Stukeley. 

"  Who  ?  Mrs.  Inigo  ?  "  said  Margaret.  "  Along  the 
alleyway,  to  the  starboard,  in  the  big  cabin  which  was 
once  the  sail-room." 

"  I  see,"  said  Stukeley. 

"  By  the  way,  Stukeley,"  said  Margaret.  "  Now 
that  you've  got  over  your  sickness,  would  you  like  to  be 
one  of  us?  And  will  you  stand  a  watch?  I'm  going 
to  stand  two  watches  a  day  with  the  mate's  watch,  and 
Edward  here  will  do  the  same  with  the  starboard 
watch." 

"  I'll  think  it  over,"  said  Stukeley,  evidently  not 
much  pleased.  "  I'll  think  it  over.  I  think  I've  lis- 
tened to  enough  jaw  for  one  night.  I'm  going  to  turn 
in." 


106  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

Margaret,  quick  to  save  Olivia  from  something  which 
he  thought  might  annoy  her,  made  a  neat  parry.     "  Oh,K 
don't  say  that,  Stukeley.     Come  on  deck  for  a  blow ; 
then  we'll  have  a  glass  of  punch  apiece." 

"  Come  on,"  said  Perrin,  attempting,  with  an  ill 
grace,  the  manner  of  a  jovial  schoolboy.  "  Come  on, 
my  son.  Catch  hold  of  his  other  arm,  Charles." 

As  he  seized  Stukeley's  arm  to  give  him  a  heave, 
Stukeley  poked  him  in  the  wind,  and  tripped  him  as  he 
stepped  backward.  "  What're  you  sitting  down  for  \  " 
he  said,  with  a  rough  laugh. 

Perrin  was  up  in  a  second.  He  seized  a  heavy  de- 
canter, and  hove  it  into  Stukeley's  face.  Stukeley  in 
guarding  the  blow  received  a  sharp  crack  upon  the  el- 
bow. Margaret  and  Cammock  pulled  Perrin  aside,  un- 
der a  heavy  fire  of  curses. 

"  What  d'ye  mean  by  losing  your  temper  ?  Hey  ?  " 
said  Stukeley. 

Margaret  drew  Perrin  out  of  the  cabin.  "  Good 
night,  Stukeley,"  he  said  as  he  passed  the  door. 

He  left  Cammock  standing  by  his  chair,  looking  into 
Stukeley's  face.  There  was  a  pause  for  a  moment. 

Then  Stukeley  began  with,  "  That  damned  old  woman 
nearly  broke  my  elbow.  If  he's  a  friend  of  yours " 

"  He  is,"  said  Cammock. 

"  Oh,  so  you're  another  of  them.  Well.  Lord. 
You  make  a  queer  crew.  Do  you  know  that  ?  " 

Cammock  did  not  answer,  but  remained  standing, 
like  a  figure  of  bronze,  staring  into  Stukeley's  face. 
For  fully  a  minute  he  stood  there  silently.  Then  he 
spun  round  swiftly,  in  his  usual  way,  giving  a  little 
whistle.  He  paused  at  the  door  to  stare  at  Stukeley 
again. 

"  I'm  glad  you  admire  my  beauty,"  said  Stukeley. 
11  You're  not  much  used  to  seeing  gentlemen,  are  you  ?  " 


A  CABIN  COUNCIL  107 

Still  Cammock  did  not  answer.  At  last  he  spat 
through  the  half -opened  gun-port.  "  My  God,"  he 
said.  Then  he  walked  out  on  deck,  leaving  Stukeley 
rubbing  his  elbow;  but  softly  chuckling,  thinking  he 
had  won  the  field. 


STUKELEY 

"Thus  can  my  love  excuse  the  slow  offence." 

Sonnet  li. 

"  I  can  endure 

All  this.     Good  Gods  a  blow  I  can  endure. 
But  stay  not,  lest  thou  draw  a  timeless  death 

Upon  thyself." 

The  Maid's  Tragedy. 

ONE  morning,  about  six  weeks  later,  when  the 
Broken  Heart  was  near  her  port  of  call,  Cap- 
tain Margaret  sat  at  the  cabin  table,  with  a 
book  of  logarithms  beside  him,  a  chart  before  him,  and 
a  form  for  a  ship's  day's  work  neatly  ruled,  lying  upon 
the  chart.  He  made  a  faint  pencil-line  upon  the  chart, 
to  show  the  ship's  position  by  dead-reckoning.  Then, 
with  a  pair  of  compasses,  he  made  a  rough  measure- 
ment of  the  distance  still  to  run.  Stukeley,  lying  at 
length  upon  the  locker-top,  watched  him  with  contempt. 

The  Broken  Heart  had  had  a  fair  summer  passage, 
with  no  severe  weather.  She  had  spoken  with  no  ships 
since  leaving  Falmouth.  Her  little  company  of  souls 
had  been  thrown  upon  themselves,  and  the  six  weeks 
of  close  association  had  tried  their  nerves.  There  were 
tense  nerves  among  the  afterguard,  on  that  sunny  morn- 
ing, just  off  Soundings. 

"  Where  are  we  ?  "  Stukeley  asked. 

"  Just  off  Soundings,"  said  Margaret. 

"  Where  the  blazes  is  that  ?  " 

"  About  four  hundred  miles  to  the  east  of  Accomac." 
108 


STUKELEY  109 

"  How  soon  shall  we  get  to  Accomac  ?  " 

"  A  week,  perhaps.     It  depends  on  the  wind." 

"  And  then  we'll  get  ashore  ?  " 

"  Yes.     If  you  think  it  safe." 

"  What  the  devil  d'you  mean  ?  " 

Captain  Margaret  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  looked  at 
Stukeley  as  an  artist  looks  at  his  model.  Many  small, 
inconsidered,  personal  acts  are  revelations  of  the  entire 
character;  the  walk,  the  smile,  the  sudden  lifting  of 
the  head  or  hand,  are  enough,  to  the  imaginative  person. 
So,  now,  was  Captain  Margaret's  look  a  revelation.  One 
had  but  to  see  him,  to  know  the  truth  of  Perrin's  epi- 
gram. Perrin  had  called  him  "  a  Quixote  turned 
critic."  He  looked  at  Stukeley  as  though  he  were 
above  human  anger;  his  look  was  almost  wistful,  but 
intense.  He  summed  up  the  man's  character  to  him- 
self, weighing  each  point  with  a  shrewd,  bitter  clear- 
ness. His  thought  was  of  himself  as  a  boy,  pinning 
the  newly  killed  moth  upon  the  setting-board. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Stukeley. 

"  Do  you  think  it  safe  ?  " 

Stukeley  rose  from  the  locker  and  advanced  across 
the  cabin. 

"  So  little  Maggy's  going  to  preach,  is  he  ?  "  he  said 
lightly.  "  Let  me  recommend  little  Maggy  to  keep  on 
his  own  side  of  the  fence." 

Margaret  shrugged  his  shoulders.  It  seemed  to  him 
to  be  the  most  offensive  thing  he  could  do,  in  the  cir- 
cumstances. 

"  Supposing  that  it's  not  safe  ?  " 

Stukeley  laughed,  and  returned  to  the  locker.  He 
pulled  out  a  pipe  and  began  to  fill  it. 

"  Maggy,"  he  said,  "  why  don't  you  get  married  ?  " 

"  My  destiny." 

"  Marriage  goes  by  destiny.     Eh  ?  " 


110  "CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  Marriage.     And  hanging,  Stukeley." 

That  brought  him  from  the  locker  again.  "  What 
the  hell  d'you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Margaret.  "  It's  safe  in  Accomac,  I 
should  think." 

"What  is?" 

"  The  evil-doer,  Stukeley.  The  cheat,  the  ravisher, 
the But  I  don't  think  you  ever  committed  a  mur- 
der. Not  what  is  called  murder  by  a  jury." 

"  Ah.  You  cast  that  at  me,"  said  Stukeley.  "  Rec- 
ollect now,  Maggy.  That's  enough.  I'd  be  sorry  to 
hit  you." 

"  Would  you  ? "  said  Margaret.  "  Well.  Perhaps. 
But  if  it's  not  safe,  Stukeley,  what  are  you  going  to 
do?" 

"  Stay  here,  little  Maggy.  Oh,  ducky,  you  are  so 
charming.  I  shall  stay  on  board  with  my  own  little 
Maggy." 

"  You'd  better  remember  my  name  when  you  speak 
again,  Stukeley.  I  take  no  liberties  from  a  forger." 

"  Have  you  been  reading  my  papers  ?  In  my 
cabin  ? " 

"  It  was  forgery,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

"  Is  it  any  business  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"How?" 

"  Because,  Stukeley,  I  may  have  to  see  the  Governor 
about  you.  I  may  be  asked  about  you  when  you  land. 
I  may  even  have  to  hand  you  over  to  —  well,  disgrace." 

"  Rot.  How  the  hell  will  the  Governor  know  ? 
Don't  talk  nonsense." 

"  Then  it  was  forgery  ?  " 

"  Certainly  no  damn  maggot  like  you'll  call  it  any- 
thing. No  man  alive." 

"  But    supposing   they   try   you,    my   friend.     Eh  ? 


STUKELEY  111 

Suppose,  when  we  land,  when  we  anchor,  you  are  taken 
and  sent  home.  What  would  a  jury  call  it  ?  " 

"  We're  not  in  Falmouth  harbour  now.  Nor  in  Sal- 
combe." 

Just  at  this  moment  Captain  Cammock  entered,  whis- 
tling a  tune  through  his  teeth.  He  glanced  at  both 
men,  with  some  suspicion  of  their  occupation.  "  Come 
for  the  deep-sea  lead-line,"  he  explained.  "  We'll  be 
in  soundings  by  to-night.  Getting  on  nice,  ain't  we  ?  " 
He  opened  one  of  the  lockers  and  took  out  the  lead-line. 
"  You'd  ought  to  come  on  deck,  sir,  to-night,  to  see 
how  this  is  done.  It's  a  queer  sight,"  he  said.  "  I'm 
off  to  the  cook  now,  to  get 'a  bit  of  tallow  for  the  arm- 
ing." 

"  Stop  just  a  moment,  captain,"  said  Margaret.  "  I 
want  to  ask  you  something.  How  often  do  letters  go 
to  Virginia,  from  London  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  about  twice  a  week,  now  there's  no  war. 
Almost  every  day,  in  the  summer,  you  might  say.  Yes. 
They're  always  going." 

"  Have  we  made  a  good  passage  ?  " 

"  Nothing  extra.  It's  been  done  in  five  weeks  by  the 
baccalao  schooners.  Less." 

"  The  baccalao  schooners.  They're  the  cod-boats  ? 
Are  they  very  fast  ?  " 

"  Oh,  beauties.     But  ain't  they  wet." 

"  Then  we  might  find  letters  waiting  when  we  ar- 
rive?" 

"  Very  likely,  sir.  I  was  going  to  speak  to  you  about 
that."  He  looked  with  meaning  at  Stukeley. 

"  What  are  you  looking  at  me  like  that  for  ?  "  said 
Stukeley. 

"  You  might  have  letters  waiting,  too,"  said  Cam- 
mock.  "  Society  invitations  and  that."  He  glanced  up 
at  the  skylight  as  he  spoke,  and  then  watched  Stukeley 's 


112  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

face  to  note  the  effect  of  his  words.  Stukeley  turned 
pale. 

"  Stukelej,"  said  Margaret,  "  don't  you  think  you 
ought  to  tell  your  wife  ?  " 

"Will  you  please  mind  your  own  business,  Maggy. 
She's  my  wife,  not  yours." 

"  Then  I  shall  tell  her.     Shall  I  ?  " 

"Tell  her  what?" 

"  I'm  going  on  deck,"  said  Cammock.  "  You  come 
on  deck,  sir,  too."  He  passed  out  of  the  cabin,  carry- 
ing his  heavy  lead.  He  paused  at  the  door  for  a  mo- 
ment to  ask  his  friend  again.  "  Come  and  see  how 
it's  done,  sir,"  he  said.  He  got  no  instant  answer,  so 
he  passed  out,  wondering  how  it  would  end.  "  It's 
none  of  my  job,"  he  said  sadly.  "  But  I'd  give  a  deal 
just  to  hit  him  once.  Once.  He'd  have  a  thick  ear  to 
show." 

"  Tell  her  what  ? "  repeated  Stukeley,  as  the  door 
closed. 

"  That  you  may  be  arrested  as  soon  as  we  arrive. 
That  the  case  may  go  against  you." 

"  You  would  tell  her,  would  you  ?  " 

"  She  ought  to  know.  Surely  you  can  see  that. 
Shall  I  tell  her?" 

"You?" 

"  Yes." 

"  You've  go You  lowsy.  You'd  like  to, 

wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  I  should  very  much  like  to,  Stukeley." 

"  I  don't  doubt.  And  you're  the  one That's 

like  you  poets.  You're  a  mangy  lot,  Maggy.  I  see 
you  so  plainly,  Maggy,  telling  my  wife.  Like  a  cat 
making  love.  In  the  twilight.  Oh,  I've  seen  you." 

"  Go  on,  Stukeley." 

"  You  come  crawling  round  my  wife.     I've  seen  you 


STUKELEY  113 

look  at  her.  I've  seen  you  shake  hands  with  her.  I've 
seen  your  eyes.  Doesn't  she  make  your  mouth  water  ? 
Wouldn't  you  like  that  hair  all  over  your  face  ?  Eh  ? 
Eh  ?  And  her  arms  round  you.  Eh  ?  " 

"  Stukeley,"  said  Margaret,  "  I'd  advise  you  to  stop. 
Stop  now." 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to ?  " 

"  Stop." 

"  I  know  you  would.  Poems,  eh  ?  I've  read  a  lot 
of  your  poems  to  her,  Maggy." 

"  Were  you  looking  for  my  purse  ?  " 

"  ]S[o,  Maggy.  But  I  thought  you  needed  watching. 
I  don't  want  any  mangy  poet  crawling  round  my  wife. 
So  I  just  watched  you,  Maggy." 

"Yes?" 

"  Oh  yes.  I  don't  think  you've  succeeded  yet, 
Maggy.  Even  in  spite  of  your  poems." 

"  Stukeley,"  said  Margaret,  rising  from  his  chair, 
"  when  we  get  to  Accomac  you  will  come  ashore  with 
me.  I'll  do  my  best,  when  we're  ashore,  to  put  my 
sword  " —  he  advanced  to  Stukeley,  bent  swiftly  over 
him,  and  touched  him  sharply  on  the  Adam's  apple  — 
"  just  there,  Stukeley.  Right  through.  To  save  the 
hangman  the  trouble." 

Stukeley  watched  him  with  amused  contempt;  he 
laughed.  "  Maggy's  in  a  paddy,"  he  said.  "  No, 
Maggy.  I'm  a  married  man,  now,  ducky.  What 
would  my  wife  do  if  she  woke  up  one  fine  morning  and 
found  me  gone  ?  Eh  ?  " 

".Are  you  afraid  to  fight  ?  " 

"  Afraid  of  a  little  crawling  maggot  who  comes  whin- 
ing out  some  measly  poems  ?  " 

Margaret  took  a  quick  step  forward,  and  shot  out  a 
hand  to  seize  Stukeley  by  the  throat.  Stukeley  caught 
him  by  the  wrist. 


114  CAPTAIN  MAEGARET 

"  Look  here,  Maggy,"  he  said. 

"  Drop  my  wrist.     Drop  it." 

"  Take  your  dirty  wrist." 

"  Take  back  what  you  said." 

"  You  do  amuse  me,  Maggy." 

"  Take  it  back." 

"  You  ought  to  have  been  a  woman.  Then  you  could 
have  married  that  damned  fool  Perrin.  And  you  could 
have " 


"You 


"  Ah  no,  ah  no.     No  blows,  Maggy." 

"  Take  back  what  you  said." 

"  That  I  was  afraid  ?  " 

"  You'd  better,  Stukeley." 

"  Did  I  say  that  I  was  afraid  ?  I'm  not,  you  know. 
It's  you  who  are  afraid." 

"  You'll  see." 

"  I  shall  see.  You  are  afraid.  You're  in  love  with 
Olivia,  ducky.  D'ye  think  you're  going  to  fight  me? 
Not  Maggy.  You'd  like  me  away,  wouldn't  you, 
Maggy.  Then  perhaps  she'd.  She's  an  awful  fool 
when  you  come  to  know  her,  Maggy.  To  know  her  as 
I  know  her.  She  might  be  fool  enough  to.  And  then. 
Oh.  Bliss,  eh?  Bliss.  Morning,  noon,  and  night. 
Eh?" 

"  Stukeley,  I've  stood  a  good  deal " 

"  Yes,  ducky.  But  don't  be  so  excited.  You  won't 
fight  me.  You'll  be  afraid.  You'll  lick  my  boots,  like 
you've  done  all  the  time,  so  as  to  get  a  sweet  smile  from 
her.  Doesn't  she  smile  sweetly,  my  little  Maggy? 
You'll  lick  my  boots,  Maggy.  And  hers.  Lick,  lick, 
lick,  like  a  little  crawling  cat.  Wouldn't  you  like  to 
lick  her  hand,  Maggy?  Her  fingers?  Don't  go, 
Maggy.  I'm  just  beginning  to  love  you." 

"  We'll,  go  on  with  this  at  Accomac,  Stukeley." 


STUKELEY  115 

"  We  shan't  fight,  Maggy.  If  you  killed  me,  she'd 
never  marry  you.  Besides,  it  would  kill  her,  Maggy. 
She  loves  me.  She  wants  a  man,  not  a  little  licking 
cat.  You're  content  to  spend  your  days  licking.  My 
God ;  you'd  die,  I  believe,  if  you  couldn't  come  crawling 
round  her,  sighing,  and  longing  to  kiss  her.  That's 
your  life.  Well.  Kill  me.  You'll  never  see  her 
again.  Then  what  would  the  little  crawler  do?  Go 
and  put  his  arms  round  Perrin  ?  But  d'you  know 
what  I  should  tell  Olivia  before  going  out  with  you  ?  " 

"  What  would  you  tell  her?  " 

"  I'd  tell  her  that  I  suspected  you  of  making  love  to 
her.  Eh  ?  That  you  admitted  it,  and  that  I  gave  you 
this  chance  of  satisfaction  out  of  consideration,  instead 
of  thrashing  you.  So  any  way  I've  the  whip  hand, 
Maggy.  She'd  never  look  at  you  again,  and  you  can't 
live  without  her.  Can  you  ?  " 

"  Anything  else  ?  " 

"  Just  this.  You'll  never  see  her  again  if  —  if  any- 
thing happens  at  Accomac.  Through  the  Governor, 
you  know.  We  should  go  home  together.  And  the 
shock,  eh?  Loving  husband  hanged,  eh?  So  take  it 
from  one  who  loves  little  Maggy,  that  you  aren't  going 
to  fight  me,  and  that  for  all  your  gush  you'll  help  me 
in  Accomac  in  case  there's  trouble.  And  Olivia  shall 
let  you  kiss  her  hand,  shall  she.  Or  no,  you  shall  have 
a  shoe  of  hers  to  slobber  over,  or  a  glove.  Now  go  on 
deck,  Maggy,  and  cool  your  angry  little  brow.  A  little 
of  you  goes  a  long  way,  Maggy.  That's  what  Olivia 
told  me  one  night." 

He  stopped  speaking;  for  Margaret  had  left  the 
cabin.  "  I  wonder  where  he's  gone,"  Stukeley  mut- 
tered, smiling.  Through  the  half-shut  door  he  could 
see  Margaret  entering  the  cabin  which  he  shared  with 
Perrin.  "  What  a  rotter  he  is,"  he  thought.  "  I  sup- 


116  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

pose  now  he'll  have  a  good  cry.  Or  tell  it  all  to  that 
dead  frog,  Perrin."  For  a  moment,  he  thought  that  he 
would  go  on  deck  to  walk  with  Perrin,  not  because  he 
wanted  to  see  the  man,  but  because,  by  going  on  deck, 
he  would  keep  both  Perrin  and  the  captain  from  talk- 
ing to  Olivia,  who  was  mat-making  on  the  poop,  amid 
a  litter  of  coloured  silks.  He  thought  with  some  dis- 
gust of  Olivia.  So  that  he  might  not  be  reminded  of 
her,  he  drew  the  sun-screen  across  the  skylight,  shutting 
out  the  day.  "  Oh  Lord,"  he  said,  yawning,  "  I  wish 
I  was  back  in  the  inn  with  that  girl,  Jessie.  She  was 
some  fun.  Olivia  gets  on  my  nerves.  Why  the  devil 
doesn't  she  get  some  blood  in  her  ?  These  pious  women 
are  only  good  to  ravish.  Why  the  devil  don't  they 
enter  nunneries  ?  I  wish  that  one  of  these  three 
sprightly  lads  would  have  a  try  at  Olivia.  One  never 
knows,  though.  Even  Olivia  might  take  it  as  a  com- 
pliment." For  a  moment  he  wondered  if  there  were 
any  chance  of  trouble  at  Accomac.  Very  little,  he  con- 
cluded. He  laughed  to  think  of  the  strength  of  his 
position.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  him  to  think  that  three 
men  hated  him,  perhaps  longed  to  kill  him,  and  that 
one  refrained  because  of  Olivia,  while  the  other  two 
refrained  because  of  the  first.  "  Lord,  Lord,"  he  mur- 
mured, with  a  smile.  "  And  they'll  all  three  die  to  save 
me.  I'd  go  to  Accomac  if  there  were  a  dozen  gover- 
nors. I  wonder  if  the  Indian  girls  are  any  fun."  He 
was  hardly  built  for  marriage,  he  thought.  Those  old 
days  had  been  sweet  in  the  mouth.  There  was  that 
sleepy-looking  girl  —  Dick  Sadler's  wife.  She  was 

some  fun.     How  wild  she  used  to  get  when  she 

He  wished  that  Perrin  would  come  below  as  a  butt  for 
some  of  his  ill-temper. 

It  was  only  four  bells ;  there  were  at  least  two  hours 
to  wait  till  dinner-time.     He  was  sick  of  sleeping;  he 


STUKELEY  117 

was  sick  of  most  of  his  shipmates;  he  could  not  dice 
"  one  hand  against  the  other."  Reading  bored  him, 
writing  worried  him,  sketch  he  could  not.  He 
stretched  himself  down  on  the  locker-top,  and  lit  his 
pipe.  Tobacco  was  forbidden  in  the  cabin  for  Olivia's 
sake;  but  he  argued  that  he  was  the  real  commander 
of  the  ship,  the  practical  owner,  since  he  ruled  her 
material  destiny  by  ruling  Olivia.  As  he  smoked,  it 
occurred  to  him  that  perhaps  he  had  done  wrong  to 
anger  Captain  Margaret.  That  Maggy  was  a  sullen 
devil.  He  might  turn  sullen,  and  give  him  up  in  spite 
of  Olivia.  He  smoked  quietly  for  a  little  time,  till  a 
scheme  came  to  him,  a  scheme  which  gave  him  pleasure, 
so  good  it  seemed. 

He  lay  lazily  on  the  locker-top,  looking  out  over  the 
sea,  through  the  stern-windows.  The  sun  was  shining, 
making  the  track  of  the  ship  gleam.  Just  below  Stuke- 
ley,  sometimes  almost  within  a  sword's  thrust,  when 
the  counter  squattered  down,  slapping  the  sea,  were  the 
rudder  eddies,  the  little  twirling  tnreads,  the  twisted 
water  which  spun  in  the  pale  clear  green,  shot  through 
with  bubbles.  They  rose  and  whirled  continually, 
creaming  up  and  bursting,  streaking  aft  in  whiteness. 
Over  them  wavered  some  mewing  sea-birds,  dipping 
down  with  greedy  plunges,  anon  rising,  hovering,  sway- 
ing up.  Stukeley  watched  them  with  the  vacant  stare  of 
one  bored.  For  a  few  minutes  he  amused  himself  by 
spitting  at  those  which  came  within  range ;  then,  prov- 
ing a  poor  marksman,  he  rummaged  for  a  biscuit,  think- 
ing that  he  would  fish  for  them.  He  found  a  hank  of 
white-line,  and  tied  a  bit  of  biscuit  to  the  end.  He  was 
about  to  make  his  first  cast  when  Mrs.  Inigo  entered, 
bearing  a  buck-basket  containing  her  week's  washing, 
now  ready  to  be  dried. 

When  the  Broken  Heart  left  Falmouth,  Captain  Mar- 


118  CAPTAIN  MAKGAEET 

garet  made  certain  orders  to  ensure  Olivia's  comfort. 
He  had  tried  to  put  himself  in  her  place,  to  see  with  her 
eyes,  to  feel  with  her  nerves,  knowing  that  her  position 
on  board,  without  another  lady  to  bear  her  company, 
would  not  be  a  pleasant  one.  The  whole  of  the  ship 
abaft  the  forward  cabin  bulkhead  had  been  given  up 
to  her.  The  three  members  of  the  afterguard  took 
their  meals  in  the  cabin,  but  seldom  entered  it  at  other 
times,  unless  they  wished  to  use  the  table  for  chess, 
cards,  or  chart-work.  The  negro  steward,  who  had 
once  ruled  in  the  cabin,  was  now  little  more  than  a 
cabin-cook.  Mrs.  Inigo  did  much  of  his  work.  She 
cleaned  the  cabin,  laid  the  breakfast,  served  Olivia's 
early  chocolate,  letting  the  negro  cook  wash  up.  Cam- 
mock  and  Perrin  agreed  with  Captain  Margaret  that 
the  after  part  of  the  ship  should  be  left  as  much  as 
possible  to  the  two  Stukeleys,  so  that  Olivia  might  feel 
that  she  was  living  in  a  private  house.  After  the  cabin 
supper,  at  the  end  of  the  first  dog-watch,  no  man  of  the 
three  entered  the  cabin  unless  Olivia  invited  him. 
Margaret  felt  that  Olivia  was  touched  by  this  thought 
for  her.  She  was  very  gracious  to  him  during  her  first 
evening  party.  It  was  sweet  to  hear  her  thanks,  sweet 
to  see  her,  flushed  and  laughing,  radiant  from  the  sea 
air,  sitting  there  at  the  table,  as  Cammock  dealt  the 
cards  for  Pope  Joan.  That  evening  had  been  very 
dear  to  him,  even  though,  across  the  cabin,  on  the  heaped 
green  cushions,  lay  Stukeley,  greedy  for  his  wife's 
beauty,  whetting  his  swine's  tusk  as  the  colour  came 
upon  her  cheek.  It  would  all  be  for  him,  he  thought, 
and  the  thought,  now  and  then,  was  almost  joyful,  that 
she  should  be  happy.  It  was  not  in  his  nature  to  be 
jealous.  The  greatest  bitterness  for  him  was  to  see  the 
desired  prize  neglected,  unappreciated,  never  really 
known ;  and  to  apprehend,  in  a  gesture,  in  a  few  words, 


STUKELEY  119 

the  thought  implied,  which  the  accepted  lover  failed  to 
catch,  or  else  ignored.  He  had  tested  Stukeley's  imag- 
inative sympathy  by  the  framing  of  another  rule.  In  a 
small  ship  like  the  Broken  Heart  there  is  little  privacy. 
To  prevent  a  possible  shock  to  her,  he  arranged  that  on 
washing-days  the  clothes  of  the  women  should  be  hung  to 
dry  from  the  cabin  windows  (from  lines  rigged  up  be- 
low the  port-sills,  where  they  were  out  of  view  of  the 
crew).  Olivia  was  pleased  by  this  arrangement,  with- 
out quite  knowing  why.  Stukeley  saw  no  sense  in  it. 
On  this  particular  morning  the  arrangement  bore  pe- 
culiar fruit,  very  grateful  to  Stukeley,  who  had  long 
hungered  for  a  change. 

Mrs.  Inigo  entered  with  the  buck-basket,  closing  the 
door  behind  her.  She  dropped  the  basket  on  the  deck 
below  the  window-seat,  seized  the  clothes-line,  and  began 
to  stop  the  linen  to  it,  in  the  sea-fashion,  with  rope- 
yarns.  She  was  a  little  flushed  with  the  exertion  of 
washing,  and  she  was  a  comely  woman  at  all  times. 

"  I'm  going  to  help  you,"  said  Stukeley. 

She  smiled,  and  looked  down,  as  he  helped  her  to 
tie  some  clothes  to  the  line.  She  blushed  and  smiled ; 
he  took  her  hand. 

"  Let  go  my  hand,"  she  whispered. 

He  -pressed  the  hand,  and  though  she  drew  back,  a 
little  frightened,  he  managed  to  catch  the  other.  He 
kissed  the  hands.  They  were  rough  but  warm. 

"  Don't,"  she  said.     "  Don't,  Mr.  Stukeley." 

"  Ah,  Bess,"  he  said,  taking  her  into  his  arms  and 
kissing  her,  "  why  didn't  you  give  me  a  chance  before  ?  " 

Half  an  hour  later  Bessy  Inigo  went  forward  to  peel 
potatoes  for  dinner,  while  Stukeley  slept  upon  the  lock- 
er-top till  the  steward  roused  him  at  one  bell. 

He  went  on  deck,  when  he  was  called,  to  get  a  breath 
of  air  before  dinner.  He  found  Olivia  at  work  with  her 


120  CAPTAIN  MARGARET  „ 

little  balls  of  silk,  while  Perrin,  on  the  lee  side  of  the 
skylight,  was  drawing  for  her  a  ship  upon  canvas.  Per- 
rin  was  talking  to  Olivia,  asking  her  questions  about  her 
work.  At  the  break  of  the  poop  Captain  Cammock 
stood,  waiting  with  his  quadrant  to  take  the  height  of 
the  sun. 

Olivia  looked  up  with  a  smile  as  Stukeley  stepped  on 
deck.  She  was  still  in  that  rapturous  first  stage  of  mar- 
riage in  which  all  men,  save  the  husband,  are  regarded 
as  hardly  living,  as  being,  at  best,  but  necessary  cum- 
berers  of  the  earth,  mere  lifeless  interruptions.  In  the 
early  days  of  the  voyage  she  had  learned,  from  one  of 
Captain  Cammock's  stories,  that  people  shut  up  in  ships 
together  cannot  always  bear  the  strain,  but  become  irri- 
table, quarrelsome,  apt  to  suspect  and  slander.  She 
had  determined  that  her  married  love  should  not  decay 
thus,  and  so,  for  some  weeks  past,  she  had  contrived  to 
avoid  her  husband  for  several  hours  each  day,  greatly 
to  the  delight  of  Perrin.  On  this  particular  day  she 
felt  that  Providence  had  rewarded  her  but  meanly  for 
her  loving  self-sacrifice.  All  men,  save  Tom,'  were 
nothing  to  her,  but  Perrin,  in  the  morning,  in  one  of 
his  dull  moods,  when  unrelieved  by  Margaret,  was  less 
than  nothing.  She  had  always  been  a  little  shy  of 
Perrin,  perhaps  because  Perrin's  shyness  was  a  bar  to 
equal  intercourse.  Her  own  nature  was  full  of  shy 
refinements.  She  could  give  nothing  of  herself  to  one 
who  could  not  win  upon  her  by  some  grace  or  gallantry. 
Perrin  meant  well;  he  was  even  her  devoted  slave; 
but  he  was  heavy  in  the  hand  with  ladies,  until  their 
sympathy  had  raised  his  spirit.  Olivia  was  not  in 
the  mood  to  give  him  even  that  simulated  sympathy  by 
which  women  extract  their  knowledge  of  men.  Her 
own  fine  instincts  told  her,  or  rather  suggested  to  her, 
all  that  could  be  known  of  Perrin.  In  a  vague  way  she 


STUKELEY  121 

had  the  idea  of  Perrin  in  her  mind,  the  true  idea;  but 
vague,  without  detail,  an  instinctive  comprehension. 
He  was  a  blunted  soul  to  her,  broken  somehow.  She 
felt  that  he  had  been  through  something,  some  vice 
perhaps,  or  sickness,  with  the  result  that  he  was  blunted. 
He  was  quite  harmless,  she  thought,  even  sometimes 
pleasant,  always  well-meaning,  and  yet  dwarfed,  made 
blunt,  like  his  shapeless  hands.  She  never  could  bring 
herself  to  treat  him  as  a  human  being.  Yet  he  inter- 
ested her ;  he  had  the  fascination  of  all  mysterious  per- 
sons; she  could  never  accept  her  husband's  contemptu- 
ous estimate.  Possibly  she  felt  the  need  for  the  so- 
ciety of  another  lady,  and  hesitated  to  condemn  Perrin, 
as  being  the  nearest  thing  to  a  lady  in  the  ship.  Thus 
Robinson  Crusoe  on  his  island  unduly  valued  a  par- 
rot. 

About  half  an  hour  before  her  husband  came  on 
deck,  Olivia  had  seen  Perrin  coming  down  from  aloft, 
where  he  had  been  engaged  with  a  seaman  in  fitting 
new  spunyarn  gaskets  to  all  the  yards  on  the  mainmast, 
so  that  the  furls  might  look  neat  when  they  made  Vir- 
ginia. He  enjoyed  his  work  aloft  until  he  grew  hot, 
when  he  soon  found  a  pretext  for  leaving  it.  On  reach- 
ing the  deck,  he  went  aft  to  Olivia  (who  smiled  her 
recognition),  and  sat  down  at  her  side,  content  to  stay 
still,  to  cool.  The  sight  of  Olivia's  beauty  so  near  to 
him  filled  him  with  a  kind  of  awe.  Like  a  schoolboy 
impressed  by  some  beautiful  woman  who  is  gracious 
to  him,  perhaps  merely  from  that  love  of  youth  which 
all  women  have,  so  did  Perrin  imagine  heroisms,  res- 
cuing that  dear  head,  now  bent  with  a  shy  sweetness 
over  her  mat. 

"  Olivia,"  he  said  at  length,  about  a  minute  after  the 
proper  time  for  the  request,  "  will  you  show  me  what 
you  have  done  ?  " 


122  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

She  looked  up  from  her  work  with  a  smile  that  was 
half  amusement  at  his  serious  tone. 

"  I've  not  done  very  much,"  she  said,  showing  her 
canvas,  with  its  roses,  surrounded  by  a  garland  of  ver- 
bena leaves,  still  little  more  than  outlined.  "  Did  you 
ever  try  to  make  mats  ?  "  she  added. 

"  I  can  make  daisy-mats  with  wool,  on  a  frame  with 
pins,"  he  answered.  "  Can  you  make  those  ?  You  cut 
them,  and  they  show  like  a  lot  of  daisies." 

"  I  used  to  make  them,"  she  said,  "  when  I  went  to 
stay  with  my  aunt  Pile,  at  Eltons.  You  were  at  Eltons, 
too,  were  you  not  ?  I  think  you  stayed  there  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  stayed  there.  What  a  beautiful  old  place 
it  is.  Have  you  been  there  lately  ?  " 

"  No.  ISTot  for  two  or  three  years  now.  I  was  very 
gay  the  last  time  I  was  there.  I  think  I  went  to  a 
dance  every  night.  My  poor  brothers  were  alive  then. 
We  used  to  drive  off  together.  I've  never  been  there 
since." 

"  Ah,"  said  Perrin.  He  paused  for  a  moment,  so 
that  his  brain  might  make  the  picture  of  the  woman 
before  him  sitting  in  the  gloom  of  the  carriage,  with 
all  her  delicate  beauty  warmly  wrapped  by  the  two 
young  men  now  dead.  "  Furs,"  he  muttered  to  him- 
self. "  Furs,  and  the  lamps  shining  on  the  snow." 
Then  he  looked  at  Olivia,  noting  the  grey  and  black 
dress,  the  one  gold  bracelet  round  her  wrist,  and  the 
old  pearl  ear-rings  against  the  mass  of  hair. 

"  What  jolly  clothes  women  wear,"  he  said,  meaning 
(like  most  men  who  use  such  phrases)  "  How  beautiful 
you  look  there." 

"  This  ?  "  she  asked.     "  This  is  my  oldest  frock." 

"  Is  it  ?  I  didn't  remember  it.  How  do  you  get 
your  clothes  ? " 

"  I  tell  my  dressmaker." 


STUKELEY  123 

"  I  wish  you'd  let  me  design  you  a  dress." 

"  I  should  be  very  pleased.  What  sort  of  dress 
would  you  design  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  would  have  you  in  a  sort  of  white  satin  bodice, 
all  embroidered  with  tiny  scarlet  roses.  And  then  a 
little  black  velvet  coat  over  it,  with  very  full  sleeves, 
slashed,  to  show  an  inner  sleeve  of  dark  blue  silk.  And 
the  lining  of  the  velvet  would  be  dark  green;  so  you 
would  have  green,  blue,  white,  and  red  all  contrasted 
against  the  black  of  the  velvet." 

"  That  would  be  costly.  And  what  skirt  ?  A  black 
skirt,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  A  very  full  black  skirt.  What  do  you  think  about 
a  belt  ?  Would  you  wear  that  belt  of  yours  ?  The  one 
with  the  Venetian  silver-work  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  about  a  belt.  I  thought  you  were 
going  to  design  everything  ?  " 

"  Not  a  belt,  then.  And  black  shoes,  with  small,  oval, 
cut-steel  buckles." 

"  I  should  think  that  would  be  very  pretty."  Her 
thoughts  were  wandering  in  England,  down  a  lane  of 
beech  trees  within  sound  of  the  sea,  to  a  hillock  of 
short  grass,  cropped  by  the  sheep,  where  sea-pinks  and 
sea-holly  sprouted. 

"  What  are  the  sailors  like  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  saw 
you  working  up  aloft  with  them.  What  are  they  like  to 
talk  to  2 " 

"  Oh.     They're  all  right." 

"  I  think  they're  dreadful  people." 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Perrin.  "  What  makes  you  think 
they're  dreadful  ? " 

"  JSTo  nice  man  would  take  such  a  life.  Oh.  It 
must  be  dreadful.  I  shudder  when  I  see  them.  What 
do  they  talk  of,  among  themselves  ? " 

"  They're  not  very  refined,  of  course.     That  man  up 


124  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

on  the  yard  there  was  once  a  slave  in  Virgina.  You 
see  he  was  transported  for  theft.  He  says  he  used  to 
cry,  sometimes,  half  through  the  night.  He  was  so 
homesick." 

"  Oh,  that's  terrible.  But  what  home  had  he  to  be 
sick  for  ? " 

"  The  ash-heap  near  a  glass-house  furnace.  Some- 
where in  Chelsea,  I  think  he  said." 

"  And  are  the  others  all  thieves,  do  you  suppose  ?  " 

"  That  ugly-looking  dark  fellow  with  the  crooked 
eyes  was  once  in  a  pirate's  crew,  so  the  man  on  the  yard 
said." 

"  Was  he  really  ?  I  don't  think  that  man  is  quite 
sane.  He  seems  to  glare  so.  Oh,  ships  are  dreadful, 
dreadful." 

"  They're  beautiful,  though.  All Yes.  Don't 

you  think  all  beautiful  things  seem  to  gather  vileness 
about  them  ? " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  so.  Vileness  ?  In  what  way, 
vileness  ? " 

"  I  think  they  do.  You  see  ships  with  sailors, 

and  pictures  with  picture-dealers,  and  tragedies 

Well.  Tragedies  with  all  sorts  of  people."  He  ran 
on  glibly,  though  with  some  confusion.  The  thought 
had  occurred  to  him  first  in  a  moment  of  jealous  anger 
that  Olivia,  so  beautiful  and  sweet,  should  be  a  prey 
to  the  vile  Stukeley.  He  blushed  and  stopped,  thinking 
that  she  would  read  his  thought. 

"Oh.  But  I  don't  think  that  at  all,"  she  said. 
"  You  ought  to  say  that  vileness  gathers  about  beautiful 
things.  A  beautiful  thing  is  a  vigorous  form  of  life, 
and  all  forms  of  life  have  parasites.  The  parasites 
don't  attach  themselves  to  the  things  you  speak  of  be- 
cause the  things  are  beautiful." 


STUKELEY  125 

"  No.  I  suppose  not.  Of  course  not,"  he  answered, 
rather  puzzled,  still  thinking  of  Stukeley. 

"  And  you  wouldn't  say  that  the  really  beautiful 
things,  such  as  love  is,  say,  to  a  woman  like  myself, 
No  vileness  gathers  about  that  ?  " 

"  N-no,"  he  answered,  with  some  hesitation,  wishing 
that  he  had  never  started  his  mild  little  rabbit  of  an 
epigram.  He  looked  away,  at  the  sky-line,  for  a  mo- 
ment. Then,  with  sudden  desperation,  he  charged  her 
to  change  the  subject,  his  face  still  red  from  his  former 
rout. 

"  Olivia,"  he  said.  "  If  I  drew  you  a  ship,  would 
you  embroider  it,  or  make  a  mat  of  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  Draw  the  Broken  Heart.  I 
could  work  it  for  Tom's  birthday.  I  should  be  very 
glad  of  it,  after  I've  finished  this." 

Perrin  helped  her  to  cut  a  square  of  canvas  from  a  lit- 
tle roll  she  had  obtained  from  the  sailmaker.  He  settled 
himself  down  to  draw.  Olivia  stitched  with  her  silks. 

"  It  is  so  curious,"  she  said  at  last,  "  that  you  should 
have  known  my  husband  —  that  you  knew  him  years 
ago,  when  we  stayed  at  Eltons  together.  Before  I 
knew  him." 

"  Yes.  I've  thought  that,  too.  And  now  we're  all 
here  together.  And  Eltons  is  still  going  on,  behind  us 
there.  Rooks  in  the  elms.  And  your  aunt  Pile  in  her 
chair." 

She  seemed  to  reflect  for  a  moment,  as  though  think- 
ing of  the  beautiful  house,  where  life  moved  so  nobly, 
like  a  strain  of  music.  Perrin  knew  that  she  was 
thinking  of  Stukeley.  "  Oh,  you  women,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "  You  give  everything  for  a  pennyweight  of 
love,  and  even  that  is  never  paid  to  you."  He  would 
have  given  much,  poor  moth,  to  be  back  at  Eltons,  young 


126  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

and  handsome,  with  the  shy,  gauche  girl  who  had  since 
become  Olivia.  "  I  didn't  know  then,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, "  and  you  couldn't  guess.  And  now  we're  driving 
to  it.  Shipwreck.  Shipwreck.  And  I  should  have 
been  so  happy  with  you." 

"  What  was  Tom  like  then  ? "  said  Olivia. 

"  Who  ?  Oh,  your  husband.  You  see  I  didn't  know 
him  well,"  said  Perrin  in  confusion.  "  He  was  —  I 
think  he  was  a  lot  thinner  than  he  is  now." 

"  How  did  he  look  in  his  uniform  ?  " 

"  His  uniform  ?  "  said  Perrin.  "  You  see.  I  didn't 
see  him  in  his  uniform.  You  see  it  was  after  he'd  been 

kicked After  he'd You  know  what.  What 

is  the  word  ?  After  he'd  been " 

Stammering  and  blushing,  he  managed  to  get  out  of 
his  difficulty.  Olivia  thought  that  he  had  been  afflicted 
by  that  impediment  in  his  speech,  or  partial  aphasia, 
which  sometimes  checked  his  conversation.  She  pitied 
him,  while  feeling  that  his  companionship  was  painful. 
He  himself  turned  very  red,  and  bit  his  tongue.  He 
thought  that  the  six  weeks  at  sea  should  have  taught 
him  the  guard  for  all  such  sudden  thrusts. 

"  After  he'd  left  the  army  ?  "  she  said  kindly. 

"  Yes.  Yes.  It  was,"  he  answered.  He  turned 
again  to  draw  the  image  of  the  Broken  Heart,  as  he  had 
seen  her  from  without,  some  seven  long  weeks  before. 
Olivia  gave  him  a  moment's  grace  to  recover  his  natural 
colour.  Captain  Cammock  caught  her  eye,  and  saluted 
as  he  took  his  stand  with  his  quadrant.  She  was  smil- 
ing back  at  him  when  her  husband's  head  appeared  on 
the  poop  ladder.  Perrin  looked  up  quickly. 

"  I'd  better  hide  this,  Olivia,"  he  said.  "  If  it's  for 
your  husband's  birthday.  Shall  I  hide  it  ?  " 

As  she  nodded  a  swift  answer  her  husband  stepped 
on  to  the  poop. 


STUKELEY  127 

Stukeley  advanced  rapidly  and  kissed  his  wife,  with 
some  show  of  fervour,  for  policy's  sake.  Then  with  a 
quick  snatch  he  caught  Perrin's  drawing,  lying  half 
hidden  upon  the  skylight  seat  under  one  of  Olivia's 
wraps. 

"  Look  at  little  Pilly's  cow,"  he  said.  "  Look, 
Olivia.  Did  you  draw  this,  little  Pilly  ?  " 

"  He  was  drawing  it  for  me,"  said  Olivia. 

"  Were  you  going  to  teach  him  to  embroider  it  ? 
Little  Pilly,  was  he  going  to  have  his  little  needle, 
then?  And  his  red  and  blue  silk.  Eh?  You  know, 
Olivia,  I  saw  little  Pilly  here,  down  in  the  cabin  one 
hit  me,  playing  with  some  red  and  blue  silk  spools. 
Ah,  little  Pilly;  it's  a  shame  to  tease  him.  He  must 
have  his  little  dollies,  then  ?  " 

"  You  put  down  that  drawing/'  said  Perrin,  snatch- 
ing at  it. 

Stukeley  held  him  aside  with  one  hand,  dangling  the 
drawing  from  the  other. 

"  No,  no,  little  Pilly,"  he  said.  "  Manners,  little 
boy.  Manners  before  ladies." 

"  Don't,  Tom  dear,"  said  Olivia.  "  Don't  spoil  the 
drawing." 

"  That  would  be  a  shame/'  he  answered.  "  Little 
Pilly  draws  so  beautifully.  Which  is  the  tail,  Pilly  ?  " 
he  asked.  "  Which  of  these  prongy  things  is  the  tail  ?  " 

Perrin  did  not  answer ;  but  again  attempted  to  snatch 
the  canvas. 

"  Why  don't  you  take  it,  little  Pilly  ?  "  said  Stuke- 
ley. 

"  Damn  you,  give  it,"  said  Perrin,  white  with  pas- 
sion. He  snatched  the  canvas  from  him,  smote  him  a 
sharp  slash  across  the  eyes  with  it,  and  flung  it  over- 
board. 

Stukeley  made  a  rush  at  him,  but  became  involved 


128  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

with  one  of  Olivia's  wraps.  Cammock  stepped  between 
the  disputants  with  his  quadrant  at  his  eye. 

"  Woa,  blood,"  he  said.  "  Don't  knock  my  ship  over- 
board. Make  eight  bells  there,  will  you,  Mr.  Perrin? 
Mr.  Stukeley,  will  you  please  step  and  tell  the  steward 
to  set  the  clock  right  ?  " 

"  Do  your  own  dirty  work,"  said  Stukeley. 

The  helmsman  sniggered  audibly.  Cammock  raised 
his  hat  about  an  inch  from  his  head. 

te  Quite  right,  sir,"  he  said,  as  Perrin  made  eight 
bells.  "  Quite  right  to  remind  me,  sir.  I  forgot  you 
was  only  a  passenger." 

"  Steward,"  shouted  Perrin.  "  Oh.  Mrs.  Inigo. 
Just  tell  the  steward  to  set  the  clock  right." 

"  De  clock  am  set,  seh,"  said  the  steward,  coming  to 
the  break  of  the  poop  to  ring  the  bell  for  dinner. 

"  Tom  dear,"  said  Olivia,  conscious  that  the  man  she 
loved  had  made  but  a  poor  show.  "  Tom  dear.  You 
weren't  very  kind.  I  mean.  I  think  you  hurt  Captain 
Cammock.  And  you  made  Edward  angry.  He  can't 
bear  to  be  teased.  He's  not  easy-tempered  like  you, 
dear.  I  think  sometimes  you  forget  that,  don't  you, 
Tom  ?  You  won't  be  cross,  Tom  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  Polly,"  he  said,  as  he  took  her  arm 
to  lead  her  below.  "  Xonsense,  you  old  pretty-eyes.  I 
can't  resist  teasing  Pilly ;  he's  such  an  old  hen.  As  for 
Cammock,  he's  only  an  old  pirate.  I'm  not  going  to  be 
ordered  about  by  a  man  like  that.  He's  no  right  to  be 
at  liberty." 

Olivia  was  pleased  by  the  reference  to  her  eyes,  so 
she  said  no  more.  She  wondered,  during  dinner,  why 
Captain  Margaret  ate  so  little  and  so  silently,  and  why 
Perrin  never  spoke  until  addressed.  Cammock  was 
affable  and  polite.  His  attention  to  Stukeley's  needs 
was  almost  oily. 


VI 

A   SUPPEK   PAHTY 

"But  here  comes  Glorius,  that  will  plague  them  both." 

JOHN  DONNE. 

"I'll  make  'em  dance, 

And  caper,  too,  before  they  get  their  liberty. 
Unmannerly  rude  puppies." 

Wit  Without  Money. 

AFTER  dinner,  Captain  Cammock  took  tobacco  on 
the  poop  alone.  He  liked  to  be  alone  after 
dinner;  because  his  mind  was  then  very  peace- 
ful, so  that  he  could  "  shift  his  tides,"  as  he  said,  walk- 
ing up  and  down,  remembering  old  days  at  sea.  He 
had  had  an  adventurous  life,  had  Captain  Cammock. 
Like  most  men  who  had  lived  hard,  he  lived  very  much 
in  his  past,  thinking  that  such  a  thing,  done  long  ago, 
was  fine,  and  that  such  a  man,  shot  long  since,  outside 
some  Spanish  breastwork,  was  a  great  man,  better  than 
the  men  of  these  days,  braver,  kindlier.  So  he  walked 
the  deck,  sucking  his  clay,  blowing  out  blue  smoke  in 
little  quick  whiffs,  thinking  of  old  times.  One  thing 
he  was  always  proud  of:  he  had  sailed  with  Morgan. 
He  had  memories  of  Morgan  on  the  green  savannah, 
riding  on  a  little  Spanish  horse,  slunk  forward  in  his 
saddle  somehow,  "  a  bit  swag-bellied,  Sir  Henry,"  with 
his  cigar-end  burning  his  moustache.  And  all  of  those 
men  crowded  round  him,  surging  in  on  him,  plastered 
with  mud,  gory  with  their  raw-meat  meal;  they  were 

120 


130  CAPTAIN  MAEGAEET 

scattered  pretty  well ;  they  would  never  come  in  on  the 
one  field  again.  On  the  Keys,  it  had  been  fine,  too ;  all 
of  that  blue  water  had  been  fine.  A  sea  like  blue  flame, 
and  islands  everywhere,  and  the  sun  over  all,  making 
bright,  and  boles  of  cedar  among  the  jungle  like  the 
blood-streaks  in  porphyry.  And  graceful,  modest  In- 
dian women,  glistening  with  oil,  crowned  with  dwarf- 
roses.  And  then  one  or  two  nights  by  the  camp-fires, 
with  old  Delander  standing  sentry,  and  Eddie  Collier 
singing ;  it  was  none  of  it  like  this ;  this  was  responsible 
work ;  this  turned  the  hair  grey.  He  felt  this  the  more 
strongly,  because  the  Broken  Heart  was  not  a  happy 
ship ;  she  was  wearing  him  down.  Stukeley  made  him 
grit  his  teeth.  He  had  to  sit  at  table  with  him,  con- 
scious of  the  man's  mean  malice  at  every  moment. 
There  would  be  some  slight  sound,  an  intake  of  the 
breath,  some  muttered  exclamation,  a  request  to  repeat 
the  offending  phrase,  when  he,  a  rough  seaman,  made 
some  mispronunciation,  or  slip  in  grammar.  And  to 
stand  that,  till  one's  veins  nearly  burst,  knowing  that 
the  man  was  a  cast  criminal,  flying  for  his  life.  And  to 
have  to  pretend  that  he  was  a  guest,  an  honoured  guest, 
a  fit  mate  for  the  woman  there.  And  to  have  to  de- 
fend him,  if  need  be,  in  Virginia.  It  made  him  check 
his  walk  sometimes  to  shake  a  belaying-pin  in  the  fife- 
rail,  till  the  passion  passed.  It  was  lucky  for  Stukeley 
that  he  was  a  man  with  a  pretty  tight  hold  on  himself. 
A  lesser  man,  a  man  not  trained  in  the  wars,  would  have 
laid  Stukeley  dead,  or  taken  it  out  of  the  hands.  He 
was  too  just  a  man  to  work  it  off  011  his  hands.  At  this 
point  he  checked  himself,  sharply,  putting  all  evil 
thoughts  aside,  remembering  how  a  shipmate,  Balsam 
Dick,  the  Scholerd,  who  ladled  out  soft-polly  of  a  Sun- 
day, old  Balsam  Dick  it  was,  had  told  him  that  was 
the  thing  to  do.  "  Let  it  go  or  make  it  go,"  that  was 


A  SUPPER  PAETY  131 

how  to  work  a  passion.  There  was  no  sense,  only  mis- 
ery, in  keeping  it  by  one,  poisoning  oneself.  Besides, 
he  was  glad  he'd  come  this  cruise.  He  had  been  for 
six  weeks  shut  up  in  a  ship  with  Olivia.  He  would 
never  be  thankful  enough  for  that.  She  was  so  beauti- 
ful, so  pure,  so  gentle  and  kind,  so  delicate  a  lovely 
thing,  he  could  hardly  bear  to  think  of  her.  When  he 
thought  of  Olivia,  he  would  lean  over  the  taffrail,  some- 
where above  her  cabin,  wondering  at  the  powers  which 
had  made  him  what  he  was,  a  resolute,  rough  seaman, 
beaten  into  clumsy  toughness.  And  yet  those  powers 
had  shaped  her,  too,  making  her  very  beautiful,  very 
wonderful.  And  now  the  powers  had  shoved  her  into 
a  ship  with  him ;  and  he  would  never  be  quite  the  same 
towards  women,  whatever  happened.  But,  then,  there 
was  Stukeley,  that  intolerable,  mean  bully,  worrying  all 
of  them  in  the  same  ways,  day  after  day,  with  a  madden- 
ing monotony  of  insult.  Perrin,  who  was  half  Welsh, 
had  once  hit  off  Stukeley  in  an  epigram  upon  the 
English.  "  Dull,"  he  had  said,  goaded  by  some  school- 
bully  boorishness,  repeated  for  the  hundredth  time. 
"  The  English  dull  ?  Of  course  they  are  dull. 
They're  so  dull  that  they  can't  be  inventive  even  in 
their  cruelty."  Cammock  would  repeat  this  phrase, 
reading  "  Stukeley "  for  "  English  "  so  many  times 
daily  that  "  he  tokened  his  pasture." 

While  Cammock  walked  the  deck,  thinking  and  smok- 
ing, Olivia  sat  in  her  state-room  writing  letters,  feeling 
sure  that  she  would  be  able  to  send  them  home  from 
Virginia  in  one  of  the  tobacco-ships,  and  anxious  to  be 
ready  in  case  they  should  speak  one  at  sea.  Margaret 
and  Perrin  sat  in  Captain  Cammock's  cabin  together, 
working  out  the  sights,  and  talking  in  a  low  voice  of 
Stukeley.  The  cabin  door  was  open,  so  that  they  could 
look  across  the  alleyway  to  the  closed  door  of  Mrs. 


132  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

Inigo's  state-room,  once  the  sail-locker.  They  noticed 
that  Mrs.  Inigo  came  to  her  door  every  now  and  then, 
to  glance  down  the  alleyway,  with  an  anxious  face. 
They  supposed  that  she  was  waiting  for  Olivia  to  call 
her.  Once,  indeed,  she  asked  them  if  Mrs.  Stukeley 
had  called. 

"  Well,  Charles,"  said  Perrin.  "  I  told  you  how  it 
would  be.  You  see  now  what  you've  done." 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret.  "  I  admit  I  was  wrong.  I 
made  a  great  mistake." 

"  I  don't  blame  you,"  said  Perrin.  "  But  what  are 
you  going  to  do  when  we  land  ? " 

"  Call  him  out" 

"  No,  sir.     I'm  going  to  call  him  out." 

"  Aren't  we  both  talking  nonsense  ?  How  can  either 
of  us  call  him  out,  with  Olivia  on  board?  And  then 
they're  my  guests." 

"  Well.     I  think  we  ought  to  get  rid  of  them." 

"  We  can't,  with  Olivia." 

"  There  may  be  letters  ordering  us  to  give  him  up." 

"  Then  we  shall  have  to  cut  and  run  for  it." 

"  Now  why  go  in  for  these  heroics  ?  " 

"  Because  —  I  don't  know.  When  I  was  a  young 
man  I  framed  a  certain  scheme  of  life,  I  suppose. 
There  it  is." 

"  We're  only  putting  off  the  evil  day." 

"  Why  ?     What  makes  you  think  that  ?  " 

"  Supposing  we  do  cut  and  run  for  it.  What  are  you 
going  to  do?  How  about  your  merchandise?  Where 
are  you  going  to  take  them?  Olivia  must  know  some 
day.  They  can't  go  back  to  England.  It's  only  merci- 
ful to  tell  her." 

"  Who  is  to  tell  her  ?  Who  is  to  go  to  her  and  say, 
1  Olivia,  your  husband's  a  forger.'  It's  impossible, 
Edward." 


A  SUPPER  PARTY  133 

"  Well,  I  think  we  ought  to  tell  her." 

"  Very  well  then.     Go  in  and  tell  her.     You  can't." 

"  I  will." 

"  'No.  Sit  down.  Look  here.  I  used  to  know  How- 
ard, the  present  Governor,  years  ago.  Suppose  this. 
Suppose  I  could  get  him  to  waive  the  arrest.  That  is, 
if  we  find  an  arrest  has  been  ordered.  And  we  could 
persuade.  I  want  to  spare  that  poor  girl.  He  might 
get  them  to  settle,  give  him  an  appointment  —  anything. 
Make  him  his  secretary." 

"  And  what  sort  of  life  would  Olivia  have  ?  " 

"  A  better  one  than  on  the  Main,  surely." 

"  It's  a  difficult  row  to  hoe." 

"  It  is." 

"  Let's  make  a  sangaree.  Will  you  have  some  if  I 
make  some  ? " 

"  No.  Let's  go  into  this  with  clear  heads.  It  might 
be  better  to  tell  Olivia.  But  it'll  break  her  heart." 

"  She's  got  to  suffer  some  day.  And  her  heart  won't 
break." 

"  My  God,  though,  Edward,  do  think  what  she  is, 
think  of  her  life.  Think  what.  To  have  her  husband 
driven  in  a  cart  and  hanged." 

"  Yes.  But  it's  surely  a  worse  tragedy  for  him  not  to 
be  hanged,  and  to  go  on  living  with  her." 

"  I  know.     It  is.     But  she  loves  him." 

"  Comic  devils,  women.     Aren't  they  ?  " 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  Well.  Look  here.  I  suppose  he  would  be 
hanged  ? " 

"I  shouldn't  think  there's  a  doubt  of  it." 

"  And  the  question  is,  how  to  get  rid  of  Stukeley  and 
spare  Olivia  ? " 

"  No.  How  to  spare  Olivia,  Settle  them  in  Vir- 
ginia, I  say," 


134  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  In  the  first  place,  the  Governor  might  not  allow 
it.  And  in  the  second  place,  my  dear  man,  you  simply 

can't  leave  Olivia  in  a  land  where Well,  A 

savage  land." 

"  What  do  you  know  of  the  land  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  anything  of  the  land." 

"  What  makes  you  think  it  to  be  savage  ?  " 

"  It's  common  talk.     The  sailors." 

"  What  do  the  sailors  say  about  it  ?  " 

"  They  say  it's  '  the  hell  of  a  place.'  '  The  last  place 
God  made,  and  He  forgot  to  finish  it.' ' 

"  What  do  they  know  of  Virginia  ?  " 

"  They've  been  there." 

"  Yes.     But  what  do  sailors  know  of  any  country  ?  " 

"  They  go  ashore." 

"What  for?" 

"  To  load  and  unload  their  cargoes." 

"  To  roll  casks  in  the  sun  ?  " 

"  Well.     Yes." 

"  Do  they  like  that  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  What  else  do  they  do  when  they  go  ashore  ?  " 

"  They  go  exploring." 

"What?     The  brothels ?" 

"  Yes.     And  the  country,  too." 

"  Are  there  any  roads  ?  " 

"  Well,  anyway,  they've  been  there,  and  that's  what 
they  say.  And  some  of  them.  That  Bill  Adams  fellow 
in  my  watch.  He  was  there  for  five  years,  and  he 
said  it  was  hell." 

"  What  was  he  doing  ?  " 

"  Working  in  the  tobacco  fields." 

"  As  a  slave  ?  " 

"  No.     A  redemptioner." 

"Kidnapped?" 


A  SUPPER  PARTY  135 

"  No.     Transported." 

"  I  think  we'd  better  wait  till  we  see  Virginia  for 
ourselves.  This  is  my  plan,  Edward.  We  had  better 
do  this,  I  think.  I'll  explain  things  to  Howard,  and 
get  him  to  give'  Stukeley  a  place." 

"  And  compromise  himself  ?  " 

"  Not  necessarily.  Then  they  had  better  stay  in 
Virginia.  And  perhaps  I'll  give  up  the  Darien  scheme 
and  go  home,  find  out  what  sort  of  a  mess  he  is  in,  and 
see  if  I  can  make  some  sort  of  a  composition  with  his 
prosecutors." 

"  You  can't.  You're  wanted  in  England  yourself. 
We're  all  outlaws,  Charles.  We're  flying  with  ropes 
round  our  necks." 

"  Yes.  I  suppose  we  are.  Well.  Shall  we  all  stay 
in  Virginia  ? " 

"  Till  we're  taken  and  sent  home  ?  " 

"  Till  my  committee  of  merchants  procure  our  par- 
dons." 

"  We  shall  get  no  pardons  till  our  Darien  scheme  is  a 
big  success." 

"  That's  true,  too." 

"  Old  Cammock  was  saying  that  Carolina  is  a  good 
place.  They  call  Charleston  Puerto  Franco;  every- 
body's safe  there,  he  says." 

"  God  deliver  Olivia  from  a  place  so  lawless  that 
every  one  is  safe  there." 

"  Yes.     My  word,  yes." 

"  Suppose,  now.  Suppose  there  is  an  arrest.  Sup- 
pose Howard  should  be  firm.  It  seems  hard.  My  God, 
I  know  I  meant  well ;  but  I've  got  her  into  a  cruel  fix. 
If  we  let  them  go.  Go  back  to  England,  for  him  to  be 
tried.  D'you  know,  Edward,  I  think  it  would  be 
best." 

"  I'm  quite  sure  it  would  be." 


136  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  But  you  would  have  to  go  with  her,  Perrin.  You 
would  have  to  go.  I'd  go,  too.  I'd  take  my  chance." 

"  No  you  wouldn't.  You'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort. 
You've  enough  trouble  as  it  stands." 

"  Oh,  I'd  have  to  go.  I  couldn't  stay  here  and  eat 
my  heart  out  for  her." 

"Yes,  you  will,  Charles.  Be  sensible.  I'll  see  her 
safe  home,  if  it  comes  to  that." 

"  And  the  instant  you  land,  Edward,  you'll  go  to 
Flaxley,  to  her  uncle,  and  then  to  her  aunt  Pile.  Get 
them  to  come  to  her.  My  God,  love  blinds  a  man.  I 
ought  to  have  seen  all  this.  But  I  could  only  see  what 
was  pleasant  to  myself." 

"  Ah.  Don't  say  that,  Charles.  It's  not  true.  You 
didn't  know  Stukeley." 

"  No.     Stukeley  then  was  the  man  Olivia  loved." 

"And  now?" 

"  Now  ?  Now  ?  We  won't  talk  about  that,  Edward. 
Get  your  Donne  and  read  to  me." 

"  I  read  so  badly." 

"  You  read  excellently.  You're  a  little  slow  some- 
times." 

"  I  can't  vary  my  voice.  I  could,  before  it  broke. 
Now  I  read  so  monotonously." 

"  Verse  ought  to  be  read  in  a  monotone,  but  there 
is  a  passionate  monotone.  Read  me  the  Second  Anni- 
versary, and  we'll  forget  our  worries.  That  sounded 
rather  like  a  step  in  the  alleyway." 

Perrin  leaned  out  of  the  door  and  looked  aft. 

"  It's  no  one,"  he  said.  "  A  beam  creaked.  Stuke- 
ley's  asleep  on  the  cabin  lockers." 

"  It  sounded  like  a  step." 

"  I'll  just  make  sure.  No.  It  can't  have  been  any- 
body." He  tiptoed  lightly  to  the  cabin  door,  and 
looked  through.  Stukeley  was  asleep  on  the  locker- 


A  SUPPER  PARTY  137 

tops,  his  face  buried  in  the  cushions.  Perrin  closed  the 
door  quietly,  and  took  his  book  from  his  shelf.  "  It  was 
no  one,"  he  said.  "  JSFo  one  at  all.  Only  a  beam." 

"  Begin,  then,"  said  his  friend. 

Perrin  shut  the  door,  sat  down,  and  began  to  read 
that  glorious  elegy,  making  a  sad  business  of  the  chang- 
ing accents. 

While  he  read,  Stukeley  sat  up  and  smiled,  making 
rude  remarks  under  his  breath.  He  had  retired  to  his 
locker-top  after  dinner,  intending  to  visit  Mrs.  Inigo 
as  soon  as  the  coast  was  clear.  After  half  an  hour  of 
yawning,  he  had  crept  down  the  alleyway  on  tiptoe, 
hoping  to  find  the  door  ajar,  and  the  handsome  woman 
waiting  for  him.  He  noticed  that  Cammock's  door  was 
open,  so  that  it  would  be  dangerous  to  attempt  the 
rendezvous ;  but  hearing  a  murmur  of  voices  he  had 
stolen  close  to  listen.  He  had  expected  nothing  inter- 
esting to  himself.  He  had  expected  some  talk  of  the 
situation,  possibly  some  invective,  such  as  he  had  over- 
heard at  other  times;  but  for  once  he  heard  something 
new;  something  which  (as  he  foresaw)  would  test  the 
wonderful  new  scheme  which  he  had  made  that  morning. 
He  half  doubted  if  the  scheme  would  stand  the  strain ; 
but  a  little  thought  convinced  him  that  he  ran  no  risk. 
So  pleasant  was  the  conversation  to  him  that  he  lingered 
rather  too  long,  mistaking  the  intentions  of  the  speak- 
ers, so  that,  when  he  retreated  backwards,  he  went  too 
swiftly,  and  made  some  noise  at  the  door,  enough  to 
give  Margaret  the  impression  of  a  step.  He  had  just 
time  to  bury  his  head  in  the  cushions,  before  Perrin 
entered.  "  Fancy  old  Maggy  having  the  guts,"  he  said. 
"We  must  deal  with  the  little  Pill,  too.  The  little 
dear  gets  poisonous."  He  thought  that  he  would  go  on 
deck  to  pass  the  rest  of  the  afternoon.  Mrs.  Inigo 
would  have  to  be  abandoned  till  the  morning. 


138  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

He  rubbed  his  cheeks  vigorously  to  flush  them.  With 
a  twist  of  his  fingers  he  ruffled  his  long  black  hair,  as 
though  he  had  .slept.  Then  he  went  yawning  down  the 
alleyway,  pulling  at  the  skirts  of  his  waistcoat.  He 
looked  in  at  the  door  of  Cammock's  cabin,  pretending 
to  be  but  half  awakened.  "  Did  one  of  you  come  into 
the  cabin  just  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  did,"  said  Perrin.  "  I'm  sorry  if  I  woke 
you." 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right,"  he  said,  gaping.  "  Only  I  won- 
dered who  it  was." 

Mrs.  Inigo's  door  was  shut,  so  he  passed  out  to  the 
deck.  He  wished  to  avoid  Captain  Cammock,  who 
walked  the  poop  above  him.  Mr.  Cottrill,  who  had  the 
deck  at  the  moment,  was  forward  with  the  boatswain, 
setting  up  the  fore-backstays  with  the  watch.  The  only 
person  with  whom  he  could  converse  was  Mr.  lies,  the 
second  mate,  that  smart  young  seaman,  who  now  sat  on 
an  inverted  wash-deck  tub,  in  the  lee  scuppers,  mending 
a  pair  of  trousers  which  he  had  taken  off  for  the  occa- 
sion. Puffs  of  wind  sometimes  lifted  his  shirt  skirts, 
displaying  his  little  wiry  legs.  The  sailmaker,  who 
sat  on  the  booby-hatch,  putting  a  new  clue,  into  a  royal, 
was  telling  him,  at  each  puff,  to  mind  the  girls  didn't 
see. 

"  By  gee,"  said  Mr.  lies,  by  no  means  a  bashful  man, 
"  I  wouldn't  mind  if  der  girls  did  see." 

"  They  don't  come  around  so  much  when  a  man  gets 
married,"  said  the  sailmaker.  "  They  get  shot  in  the 
beam  with  a  wet  rag." 

"  B'gee,"  said  Mr.  lies,  "  I  dpn't  know,  Sails.  B'gee, 
I  seen  some  married  men  as  didn't  do  much  shootin'." 

"  It's  the  missus  does  the  shooting,"  said  Sails.  "  I 
know  there's  not  many  girls  come  whistling  after  me 
since  I  got  married.  But  you  young  fellers,"  said  Sails, 


A  SUPPEE  PARTY  139 

"  you  think  of  nothing  else,  I  do  believe,  except  the 
gells  outside  Paddy's." 

"  B'gee,"  said  Mr.  lies.  "  Dere  was  one  of  them  girls 
outside  Paddy's.  She  was  a  bute,  all  right,  all  right. 
She'd  got  a  fine  skin  on  her.  Gee.  Hey.  Like  old 
sail." 

"  They  don't  last  at  it,"  said  Sails.  "  Five  years, 
they  say.  Then  they  get  froze,  down  Lavender  Pond 
way.  That  washes  the  poor  creatures'  rooge  off.  But 
there's  not  many  thinks  that  when  they  come  ashore, 
Mr.  lies.  Nor  you  don't  think  it." 

"B'gee,"  said  Mr.  lies,  as  he  stretched  his  leg  out 
into  the  sunlight.  "  That's  a  leg  all  right,  all  right," 
he  said.  "  B'gee,  Sails,  I  don't  t'ink  you  could  show 
a  leg,  like  what  that  leg  is." 

"  I  got  a  leg  as  I'd  show  alongside  of  any  man's," 
said  Sails. 

"  Let's  see  your  leg,"  said  Mr.  lies.  "  B'gee,  Sails, 
you're  one  of  dese  consumptive  fellers.  You  ain't  got 
no  legs." 

"  I  got  a  better  leg'n  you  got,"  said  Sails,  very  touchy, 
like  all  sailors,  on  the  subject  of  his  physical  strength. 
"  You  look  here,"  he  said. 

"  Mr.  Stukeley,"  cried  Mr.  lies,  standing  up  ex- 
citedly. "  B'gee,  sir,  I  want  to  show  legs  with  Sails 
here.  Will  you  be  the  judge  between  us  ?  " 

Stukeley  had  seen  similar  contests  in  his  visits  to 
the  head  to  be  pumped  on ;  but  he  had  hardly  expected 
to  see  an  officer's  vanity  put  to  the  touch  upon  the 
quarter-deck.  "  It'll  annoy  old  Brandy-face,"  he 
thought.  "  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I'll  be  the  judge. 
But  don't  shock  old  Braiidyface  on  the  poop  there."  He 
said  this  in  the  hearing  of  Captain  Cammock,  who 
paused  at  the  poop-rail,  looked  down  on  their  prepara- 
tions with  an  unmoved  face,  and  then  turned  to  walk  aft. 


140  CAPTAIN  MAEGAEET 

"  B'gee,"  said  Mr.  lies.  "  It's  a  pity  our  girls  ain't 
here.  Dere's  some  girls'd  die  laughing  to  see  us. 
Come  on,  Sails." 

Sails  extended  a  bared  leg  beside  him,  balancing,  like 
a  flamingo,  on  one  foot.  The  boatswain,  coming  aft 
for  a  sack  of  paunch-mats,  called  on  his  maker  to  come 
aft  and  watch. 

"  B'gee,  Sails,"  said  Mr.  lies,  looking  critically  at  the 
contesting  leg.  "  You  got  a  pretty  good  calf  all  right, 
all  right." 

"You've  been  woolded  pretty  well,  too,"  said  Sails. 
"  You  could  keep  them  going,  for  a  little  feller." 

"  Them  little  fellers,"  said  the  boatswain  flatteringly. 
"  They  do  their  piece.  I  seen  little  fellers  keep  them 
going  when  the  rest  is  gone  dormy."  He  glanced  at 
Stukeley,  to  see  how  Paris  would  decide. 

"  Boatswain  strip,  too,"  suggested  Stukeley.  "  K"ow, 
bose.  Cock  up  your  leg  with  the  others." 

The -boatswain  shook  his  head  with  a  laugh,  and  went 
back  to  his  work. 

"  B'gee,  sir,"  said  Mr.  lies,  "  the  old  bose  is  jealous. 
I'm  getting  cold,  b'gee."  He  danced  a  little  step  dance, 
slapping  his  feet. 

"  You've  both  got  decent  legs,"  said  Stukeley,  taking 
the  hint.  "  Damn  good  legs.  But  you  want  a  con- 
noisseur to  decide.  I'll  get  Mr.  Perrin !  " 

"  Make  him  measure  us,"  said  Mr.  lies. 

"  I  ain't  going  to  have  no  Mr.  Perrin,"  said  Sails,  re- 
tiring. "  My  legs  speaks  for  theirselves.  You  got  no 
legs,  Mr.  lies.  You  only  got  muscles.  What  a  leg 
wants  is  pathos  in  the  joints,  like  what  I  got." 

"  B'gee,  Mr.  Stukeley,"  said  lies,  "  I  think  I  got  old 
Sails  to  the  bad." 

"  Your  legs  are  like  mine,   Sails,"   said  Stukeley. 


A  SUPPER  PARTY  141 

"  They  show  a  bit  old  alongside  a  fresh  young  buck  like 
Mr.  lies  here." 

"  Ah,  go  on,  sir,"  said  Sails.  "  Them  legs  Mr.  lies 
got,  I  wouldn't  be  seen  dead  with." 

Mr.  lies  stuck  his  needle  in  his  cap.  He  yawned, 
and  spurned  his  tub  into  the  scuppers.  "  I'm  going 
below  now,"  he  said.  "  I'll  have  a  bit  of  a  fiddle  before 
eight  bells."  He  glanced  at  Stukeley,  who  seemed  will- 
ing to  talk.  "  You've  never  been  below  in  the  'tween- 
decks,  have  you,  sir  ?  "  he  said.  "  You  come  down  and 
see  the  sights.  I  ain't  got  much,  but  I  can  give  you 
a  chair  and  a  look  around.  Come  on  down  this  way, 
sir."  He  led  the  way  down  the  booby-hatch,  into  the 
'tween-decks,  where  the  light  from  the  boom-gratings 
and  the  open  hatch-mouths  made  sunny  places  in  the 
gloom.  A  lamp  or  two,  hung  under  the  quarter-deck, 
gave  light  to  the  after  part,  showing  a  few  whitewashed, 
jalousied  cabins  on  both  sides  of  the  ship.  "  That's  the 
round-house,"  said  lies,  nodding  towards  the  port  side. 
"  The  idlers  live  in  the  round-house.  Anybody  in  ?  " 
he  cried,  shaking  the  door.  "  There'll  only  be  the  cook 
in  at  this  time.  Rise  and  shine  there,  doctor."  But 
the  doctor  was  down  in  the  forepeak  grubbing  up 
dunnage  for  firewood.  All  that  Stukeley  saw  of  the 
round-house  was  the  darkness  of  a  vault,  througjh  which 
gleamed  the  oil-cloth  on  a  table,  and  the  paint  upon  a 
sea-chest.  The  clue  of  a  hammock  sloped  down  from 
the  beams  just  above  his  head,  like  the  crow's-foot  on 
a  stay.  The  place  smelt  of  oil ;  for  the  lamp  had  been 
allowed  to  burn  itself  out.  "  Fine  dry  little  house," 
said  Mr.  lies.  "  Dry  as  a  bone.  They've  good  times 
in  there,  them  idlers.  This  is  where  me  and  Mr.  Cot- 
trill  bunks.  Over  here,  sir,  to  starboard.  Mind  them 
bosun's  stores  amidships."  He  led  the  way  to  a  couple 


142  CAPTAIK  MARGARET 

of  dingy  boxes  on  the  starboard  side.  They  were  more 
roomy  than  the  cabins  on  the  deck  above;  but  they 
gave  one  no  feeling  of  comfort.  Mr.  Iles's  home  was 
littered  with  second-mate's  stores.  It  gave  out  the 
penetrating,  homely  stink  of  spunyarn.  Spare  log- 
lines  and  lead  lines  were  heaped  in  a  spare  bunk.  From 
the  beams  dangled  a  variety  of  lamps,  and  bunches  of 
thin  candles,  like  corpses'  fingers.  His  oilskins  swung 
behind  the  door,  and  dripped  upon  an  old  swab  laid 
below,  as  a  sort  of  doormat.  "  I  been  oiling  up  my 
skins,"  he  explained.  "  Don't  it  stink,  hey  ?  Stinks 
like  hell,  I  call  it.  Good  for  consumptives,  stink  is, 
they  say.  I  couldn't  ever  see  it  myself." 

"  Do  you  get  your  meals  in  here  ?  "  said  Stukeley. 

"  Damn  that  boy,"  replied  Mr.  lies,  evidently  search- 
ing for  something.  "  He  hasn't  put  my  water-carafe 
back.  He's  left  it  in  the  wardroom  again.  Come  on 
into  the  wardroom,  Mr.  Stukeley." 

He  led  the  way  aft  to  the  wardroom,  which  stretched 
across  the  breadth  of  the  ship  right  aft.  The  big  chase- 
ports  were  open,  so  that  the  room  was  light.  One  could 
see  the  grunting,  kicking  rudder-head,  with  its  huge 
blocks  for  the  relieving-tackles.  The  long  chase-guns 
were  trained  athwart-ships,  and  securely  housed.  A 
tablecloth  of  old  soft  sail  was  thrown  across  one  of  them. 
A  cleated  table  stretched  athwartships  just  forward 
of  it. 

The  table  was  rimmed  with  a  patten  to  keep  the 
plates  from  falling.  "  Here's  my  water-carafe,"  said 
Mr.  lies.  "Sit  down,  Mr.  Stukeley.  I'll  fetch  you 
the  rum  and  a  pannikin.  We  ain't  got  much.  But 
you  may  as  well  have  what  there  is."  From  the  ad- 
joining wardroom  pantry  he  produced  a  bottle  of  rum, 
about  half  full,  and  a  couple  of  tin  pannikins.  Mr. 
lies  held  the  bottle  against  the  light  to  observe  the 


A  SUPPER  PARTY  143 

level  of  the  spirit.  He  also  sniffed  at  the  mouth  after 
removing  the  cork.  "  I  have  to  watch  that  boy,"  he 
explained.  "  He  likes  his  little  dollop1  a  bit  too  well. 
I  don't  think  he's  been  at  this  though.  Does  it  seem 
to  you's  though  it  been  watered  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Stukeley,  swallowing  his  allowance. 
"  It's  very  sound  spirit.  Wants  another  year  in  cask 
perhaps.  How  much  of  this  do  you  get  a  day  ?  " 

"Half  a  pint's  the  whack,"  said  Mr.  lies,  "but  I 
don't  touch  my  whack  the  first  month,  till  the  water 
slimes.  Then  I've  a  matter  of  three  gallons  saved, 
in  case  I  get  company  come.  Have  another  go,  Mr. 
Stukeley?" 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Stukeley,  holding  out  his  panni- 
kin. "  Here's  to  old  Brandyface,  our  bold  commander." 

"  Old  Cap  Hammock,"  said  lies,  twitching  the  left 
side  of  his  upper  lip  in  the  smile  peculiar  to  him. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  old  Brandyface  ?  "  said  Stuke- 
ley. "  Perhaps  you're  used  to  pirates  ?  " 

"  What's  pirates  got  to  do  with  it  ? "  said  Mr.  lies. 
"  Drink  hearty,  sir.  I  got  a  demijohn  in  the  spare  bunk 
there.  What's  pirates  got  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Well.  There's  old  Brandyface  in  the  cabin,  isn't 
there?" 

"  Old  Cap  Hammock  ain't  no  pirate  ?  " 

"  Wasn't  he  ?  He  was  damned  near  hung  for  it. 
Not  so  long  ago,  either." 

"Is  that  so?"  said  lies.  "Is  that  so,  now? 
Straight?" 

"  He's  only  an  old  buccaneer.  What  d'you  think  of 
the- old  boy?" 

"  I  ain't  paid  to  think,"  said  Mr.  lies  evasively. 
"  Gee.  I  didn't  know  he  was  that  sort.  I  wish  I'd 
known." 

"  Why  2  " 


144  CAPTAIN  MAEGAEET 

"  Here.  You  ain't  doing  your  piece.  You  want  to 
do  better'n  that.  Lay  aft  with  your  pannikin." 

"  He  was  one  of  the  gang  which  worked  in  the  South 
Seas,"  said  Stukeley.  "  You  know  the  sort  of  thing 
they  did.  Euffians.  He  was  at  it  all  his  life." 

"  I  wish  I'd  known.     Gee.     Hey  ?  " 

"Why?" 

"  Here,  fill  fair.     Fill  fair." 

"  You'll  make  me  cocked." 

"  Cock  in  your  eye,  sir.     Lap  the  cream  of  it." 

"  He's  a  nice  one  to  have  command  of  a  ship.     Eh  ?  " 

"  So  he  was  nothing  but  an  old  pirate  ?     Gee." 

"  What  sort  of  an  old  man  is  he  to  work  with  ?  " 

"  I  wish  I'd  known.  B'gee,  sir,  I'd  have What 

sort  is  he  ?  He  don't  know  nothing.  He's  only  an  old 
woman.  He  cain't  knot  a  rope-yarn.  If  I'd  known, 
I'd  have ' 

"  What  would  you  have  ?  " 

"  He  got  fresh  with  me  one  time.  He  give  me  the 
slack  of  his  old  lip,  about  leaving  the  harness-cask  un- 
locked. I'd  have  called  him  down  if  I'd  known.  I 
don't  let  any  old  pirate  get  gay  with  me.  See  ?  " 

"  He's  a  dirty  old  swine,"  said  Stukeley.  "  He  and 
those  damned  old  women  your  owners." 

"  That  Perrin's  a  bute,  for  fair,  hey  ?  " 

"  They  make  a  nice  trio  to  leave  your  wife  alone 
with." 

"  Your  wife's  a  peach,  I  guess.     Hey  ?  " 

"  If  she  is,  she's  a  green  one.  Give  us  the  bottle 
there." 

"  Is  it  true  the  Margaret  fellow's  sweet  on  her  ? " 

"Who?  Oh,  that  little  crawler.  There's  a  picture 
of  a  man." 

"  I  never  had  much  truck  with  him.  His  look's 
enough  for  me." 


A  SUPPER  PAKTY  145 

"  For  me,  too.     Look  here,  lies.     I'm  sick  of  the 
company  in  the  cabin.     That  old  pirate,  and  those  two 
twisters,  and  my  wife  sitting  up  like  a  cold  jelly.     Ah. 
Good  luck.     Sick  of  it.     You  come  up  and  have  supper 
with  us  to-night.     And  bring  your  fiddle." 
"  I  guess  old  Brandyface'd  raise  a  stink." 
"  If  he  does,  we'll  call  him  down.     He's  not  going  to 
dictate  my  guests  to  me.     I'll  have  in  any  one  I  like." 
"  Gee.     That  would  be  great.     Hey  ?  " 
"  I'm  not  going  to  let  an  old  pirate  say  who's  to  be 
my  friends." 

"  He'll  heave  me  quit  of  the  cabin." 
"  I'll  heave  him  if  he  does.     Pretty  quick." 
"  Gee.     I'd  like  to  come.     But  he'll  be  mad  as  hell." 
"  All  the  better.     And  those  two  twisters,  too." 
"  That  Perrin.     Hey  ?     He  asked  me  one  time  what 
I  did  to  make  my  hair  grow." 

"  He's  about  the  damnedest  fool  I've  met." 
"  Have  another  ball.     There's  one  bell.     It'll  be  my 
watch  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 
"You'll  come,  then?" 

"•Oh,  I'll  come.  But  gee,  Mr.  Stukeley,  old  Brandy- 
co'll  fire  me." 

"  We'll  have  a  bit  of  sport  if  he  does.  Bring  your 
fiddle.  Oh.  Let's  have  a  song.  Let's  sing  '  Tickle 
Toby.' ' 

"  No.  I  don't  know  it  well  enough.  Let's  have  this 
one  about  the  sailor's  wives.  D'you  know  this  one  ?  " 
Until  eight  bells  were  made,  Mr.  lies  sang  to  Mr. 
Stukeley,  who  joined  in  the  choruses,  and  sometimes 
offered  a  solo.  The  songs  were  all  vile.  They  were 
the  product  of  dirty  drinking-bars,  and  dirty  young 
men.  Youth  sometimes  affects  such  songs,  and  such 
haunts,  from  that  greed  for  life  which  is  youth's  great 
charm  and  peril.  That  men  of  mature  experience 


146  CAPTAIN  MARGAKET 

should  sing  them,  enjoying  them,  after  tasting  of  life's 
bounty,  was  hateful,  and  also  pitiful,  as  though  a  dog 
should  eat  a  child.  The  couple  went  on  deck  together 
at  eight  bells,  singing  their  scrannel  for  the  mustering 
crew  to  hear. 

A  few  minutes  before  his  watch  was  up,  Mr.  lies 
gave  the  deck  to  the  boatswain,  and  went  below  to  dress. 
It  was  not  his  day  for  a  first  wash,  but  Mr.  Cottrill 
gave  him  the  first  turn  of  the  basin  (it  contained  about 
a  pint)  on  promise  of  a  plug  of  tobacco  at  the  next 
issue  of  slops.  Mr.  lies  washed  himself  carefully,  in 
spite  of  Mr.  Cottrill's  complaint  that  water  so  soapy 
would  hardly  serve  the  second  comer,  let  alone  the  boy, 
who  had  the  reversion  of  it  after  him.  After  washing, 
he  combed  his  hair,  put  on  his  best  suit,  gave  his  shoes  a 
rub  of  lamp-black,  took  his  fiddle  from  its  case,  and  went 
on  deck  to  muster  his  watch  at  four  bells.  A  few 
moments  after  four  bells,  while  the  dismissed  starboard 
watch  went  whooping  forward  to  supper,  the  steward 
rang  the  cabin  bell,  and  Stukeley  met  his  guest  at  the 
alleyway  door. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Stukeley.  "  Before  old  Brandy- 
nose  comes  aft." 

They  passed  aft  into  the  cabin. 

Margaret,  Perrin,  and  Olivia  were  already  seated 
when  they  entered.  Mrs.  Inigo  stood  behind  Captain 
Cammock's  empty  chair,  waiting  to  take  the  covers. 
She  was  looking  with  contempt  at  the  wife  she  had 
supplanted,  thinking  her  a  confident,  pale,  thin-lipped 
thing,  and  wondering  what  her  husband  could  have  seen 
in  her.  Captain  Cammock  had  been  delayed  for  a 
moment,  having  cut  his  chin  while  shaving.  When 
Stukeley  entered  Perrin  was  talking  to  Olivia. 

"  For  whom  is  the  place  there  ?  "  he  was  saying,  nod- 
ding towards  the  napkin  opposite  to  him. 


A  SUPPER  PARTY  147 

"  Why,  we're  laid  for  six,"  she  answered. 

"  Yes/'  said  Stukeley.  "  Olivia,  let  me  introduce 
Mr.  lies.  Mr.  lies  has  come  to  give  us  a  little  music." 

Olivia,  rather  startled  (for  she  had  seen  Mr.  lies 
about  the  decks,  dressed  like  a  seaman,  and  doing  sea- 
man's work,  with  much  foul  language),  glanced  at  the 
man  and  made  a  little  cold  bow,  dropping  her  eyes  to 
her  plate  as  Mr.  lies  advanced,  holding  out  his  hand. 

"  This  is  Mr.  lies,  Captain  Margaret."  Stukeley 
grinned  to  see  Captain  Margaret's  anger  plainly  show 
itself  for  a  moment.  But  he  had  misjudged  his  victim's 
power  of  self-control.  Margaret's  face  instantly  be- 
came impassive.  He  stared  rather  hard  at  Mr.  lies, 
inclined  his  head  in  a  little  cold  bow,  and  wished  him 
"  Good  evening,"  the  only  words  which  occurred  to  him, 
in  a  little  cold  voice. 

"  Hell,"  said  Stukeley  to  himself,  "  I  ought  to  have 
introduced  Perrin  first.  Now  Pilly'll  take  his  cue  from 
Maggy." 

"  Mr.  Perrin  I  think  you  know,"  he  continued  aloud. 
"  You  sit  over  here,  Mr.  lies,  by  me." 

Perrin  looked  at  Mr.  lies  and  blushed,  partly  with 
anger  at  having  to  meet  the  man,  partly  at  the  slight 
put  upon  them  all,  upon  Olivia  even,  by  Stukeley's 
invitation.  Mr.  lies  for  the  moment  was  dashed  by  the 
chill  of  his  reception,  and  awed  by  the  circumstance  of 
the  cabin  dinner.  His  thought,  for  a  few  chaotic  sec- 
onds, was  what  in  blazes  to  do  with  the  napkin.  Did  it 
go  round  the  neck,  or  how  ?  Olivia  felt  that  the  cold- 
ness of  Margaret  and  Perrin  was  in  some  sort  a  reflec- 
tion upon  her  husband;  it  nettled  her  to  defend  Mr. 
lies  against  her  will.  She  guessed  that  Mr.  lies  must 
be  a  fine  musician,  that  her  husband  had  discovered  his 
talent,  and  had  decided,  it  was  just  like  her  dear  Tom, 
that  his  talent  made  him  a  fit  companion  for  her.  She 


148  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

would  talk  to  Tom  about  it  that  night,  however,  as 
there  might  be  unpleasantness  to  them  all  if  Mr.  lies 
were  to  be  admitted  to  the  cabin  even  occasionally. 
Even  Mrs.  Inigo  seemed  to  be  sniffing  with  contempt. 
Had  she  known  it,  the  negro  steward  was  at  that  instant 
spreading  the  news  in  the  round-house,  where  Sails  pro- 
posed that  the  company  should  go  on  deck  to  hear 
Captain  Cammock  at  the  moment  of  his  introduction. 
Olivia's  reflections  lasted  for  a  few  seconds.  She 
seemed  to  pass  over  the  whole  situation  in  an  instant 
of  time.  Mr.  lies  had  hardly  sat  down,  hiding  his 
hands  below  the  table,  when  Olivia,  as  though  divining 
his  thoughts,  came  to  his  rescue,  by  bending  forward 
graciously,  taking  up  her  napkin  (it  was  folded  in  the 
likeness  of  a  sea-boot),  and  spreading  it,  unfolded,  upon 
her  lap.  Perrin,  who  was  watching  her,  guessed  her 
intention.  His  natural  kindness  gave  him  a  sort  of 
pity  for  Mr.  lies,  whom  he  judged  (from  his  confusion) 
to  be  an  unwilling  agent.  He  leaned  across  towards 
him,  and  made  some  remark  likely  to  put  him  at  his 
ease. 

"  D'you  know  whether  we're  in  soundings  yet,  Mr. 
lies?"' 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Mr.  lies.  "  They  won't  make  no 
cast  of  der  lead  till  der  middle  watch." 

"  What  sort  of  a  run  has  it  been  to-day  ?  "  asked 
Olivia. 

"  It's  been  a  good  run,  miss,  all  right,  all  right,"  he 
answered,  growing  confident.  "  We  done  seven  knots 
ever  since  der  forenoon." 

"  Just  step  forward,  Mrs.  Inigo,"  said  Margaret, 
"  and  ask  Captain  Cammock  if  we  shall  begin  without 
him?" 

"  I'll  go,"  said  Perrin. 

"  No.     I'll  go,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Inigo. 


A  SUPPER  PARTY  149 

"  You  look  pale,  Maggy/'  said  Stukeley.  "  Anything 
wrong  ?  " 

"  Thanks.     I'm  particularly  well.     Are  you  well  ?  " 

"  Very,  thanks.  You  look  annoyed  about  something. 
Doesn't  he,  lies  ?  " 

"  You  don't  look  quite  right  to  me,  sir,"  said  lies. 

"  Really." 

"  Captain  Cammock  will  be  here  in  a  minute,  sir." 

"  Let's  begin,"  said  Olivia.     "  I'm  hungry." 

"  Take  the  cover,"  said  Margaret. 

"  B'gee,  sir,"  said  lies.  "  You  don't  know  sailors,  or 
you  wouldn't  do  a  ting  like  that." 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  ?  "  said  Margaret,  hoping  to  get 
some  scrap  of  knowledge  to  atone  for  his  irritation. 
"  Tell  me  what  I've  done  wrong,  please  ?  " 

"  Taken  der  cover  off  der  soup,"  said  Mr.  lies. 

"  Is  that  a  great  crime  at  sea  ?  "  said  Olivia. 

"  It's  the  old  man's  perk,"  said  Mr.  lies.  "  B'gee. 
I  was  in  a  turtler  once,  off  of  the  Grand  Cays  there.  I 
done  that  once.  I  didn't  do  it  a  second  time.  No, 
sir." 

"  What  did  they  do  to  you  ?  "  said  Olivia. 

"  He  give  me  der  lid  for  me  supper,  lady." 

".  How  old  were  you  then  ?  "  said  Perrin. 

"  A  young  one,"  said  lies.  "  My  old  pop  was  the  old 
man  in  that  ship." 

"Your  old ?" 

"  My  pop.     The  old  one.     My  father." 

"  Tell  us  one  of  those  stories  you  were  spinning  me 
this  afternoon,  lies,"  said  Stukeley.  "  That  one  about 
the  .girl.  You  know.  The  girl.  The  girl  who 

"  Which  girl  ?  "  said  Mr.  lies.  "  I  don't  know  which 
girl  you  mean." 

"  The  girl  outside  Paddy's.  Mr.  lies  is  a  wonderful 
raconteur,"  he  explained.  "  He's  like  an  old  sailor, 


150  CAPTAIN  MAEGAEET 

you  know.  Excellent.  He  told  me  some  this  after- 
noon." 

"  What  sort  of  stories  do  you  tell  ? "  Olivia  asked. 

"  Just  amusing  stories  to  pass  the  time,  miss,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"  Do  you  make  them  up  yourself  ?  " 

"  Some  of  them  I  seen  myself,  miss,"  he  answered. 
"  I  don't  know  who  makes  the  others  up.  Some  son  of 

a Some  gentleman's  son  with  nothing  better  to 

do.  But  b'gee,  I  don't  tink  I  could  tell  one  of  them 
kind  here  exactly." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Captain  Margaret,  looking  at 
him  coldly.  "  Why  couldn't  you  ?  " 

"  I  guess  you  know,  all  right,  all  right." 

"  I  don't  frequent  pothouses.  So  perhaps  I  don't 
know." 

"  That's  where  you  sentimental  prigs  go  wrong,"  said 
Stukeley,  flaring  up.  "  It'd  do  you  a  sight  of  good  if 
you  did  frequent  pothouses.  You  meet  better  people  in 
a  pothouse  than  you  do  in  one  of  your  Chelsea  twaddle- 
shops." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Margaret  calmly. 
"What  is  a  Chelsea  twaddle-shop,  Olivia?  You've 
stayed  at  Chelsea.  What  is  it  ?  A  book-shop  ?  " 

Olivia  smiled.  Captain  Margaret  was  like  her  dead 
brother;  he  did  not  show  temper  even  when  people 
spoke  to  rouse  him.  She  defined  the  offending  shop. 

"  It's  a  name  Tom  gives  to  houses  in  Chelsea,  like  my 
aunt  Pile's  house.  Where  the  people  talk  a  good  deal 
of  poetry  and  painting.  Where  you  meet  intellectual 
people." 

"  Don't  you  like  intellectual  people,  Stukeley  ?  " 

"  I  don't  like  prigs,  and  I  don't  like  blue-stockings, 
and  I  don't  like  — 

"  People  who  care  for  beautiful  things  ?     Is  that  it  ?  " 


A  SUPPER  PARTY  -151 

"A  lot  of  mewing  old  women  who  ought  to  be  in  a 
rook-shop." 

"  What's  a  rook-shop  ?  "  said  Olivia. 

"  A  monastery,  my  dear.  A  monk  or  nun  house. 
Somewhere  where  they  could  mew  and  caw  their  silly 
hearts  out.  Beauty.  Eh?  Beauty.  I've  heard  'em 
talk  about  beauty.  What  do  they  know  about  beauty  ?  " 

"  There's  nothing  in  poetry  and  that,"  said  Mr.  lies, 
rallying  to  his  patron.  "  What's  the  good  of  it  ?  It's 
unpractical  stuff.  B'gee,  der  poets  should  come  to  sea. 
I'd  show  'em  what  to  write  about." 

"  What  would  you  show  them  ?  "  said  Perrin. 

"Show  them?"  said  Mr.  lies.  "I'd  show  them 
what  a  man  is,  for  one  thing." 

"  And  what  is  a  man  ?  "  said  Margaret. 

"  He  ain't  an  old  woman,  anyway,"  said  Mr.  lies. 

"  I  don't  want  to  know  what  he  isn't.  I  want  to  know 
what  he  is.  What  is  a  man  ?  " 

"  A  felly  what  can  do  his  piece,  and  stick  it  out.  A 
man  who  won't  hang  back,  or  lie  up,  or  give  you  no  lip." 

"  You  would  like  the  world  composed  of  such  men  ?  " 

"  B'gee  I  would.     You're  right." 

"And  you,  Stukeley?" 

"  I'd  like  my  dinner  in  peace,  without  a  lot  of  cross- 
examination.  Talk  about  beauty  with  Perrin  there. 
He  likes  to  hear  you.  I  don't." 

"No,"  said  Perrin.  "No,  Stukeley.  I  shouldn't 
think  you  ever  liked  to  hear  of  anything  noble." 

"  Noble.  Good  Lord.  I  hope  I  spend  my  time  bet- 
ter. You  two  seem  to  think  because  you  read  a  few 
half-tipped  writers  like  yourselves,  you're  free  to  judge 
everybody  else." 

"  Well,"  said  Margaret.  "  And  don't  you  judge 
everybody  else?  Better  judge,  I  think,  with  some 
knowledge  of  the  law." 


152  CAPTAIN  MAEGAEET 

"  Don't  lose  your  temper  about  it.  You're  such  a 
funny  devil." 

"  Mr.  lies,"  said  Olivia,  in  order  to  create  a  diversion. 
"  Have  you  ever  been  in  Virginia,  in  any  of  your  voy- 
ages ? " 

"  Yes,  miss.     I  been  there  two  or  three  times." 

"  Tell  us  about  it,  Mr.  lies,"  said  Margaret.  "  Were 
you  there  at  the  time  of  the  rebellion  ?  " 

"  I  was  there  just  after." 

"  What  was  the  cause  of  the  rebellion  ?  "  Olivia  asked. 
"  It  was  hushed  up,  in  England.  But  a  man  I  once 
met  told  me  that  it  was  a  very  terrible  thing.  You 
remember  Charles  Myngs,  Charles  ?  He  was  one  of  the 
rebels." 

"  I  know.  He  was  very  lucky  to  get  away.  The  re- 
bellion was  caused  by  the  action  of  a  wise,  far-seeing 
young  man,  who  objected  to  paying  taxes  to,  and  being 
governed  by,  a  body  of  wiseacres  three  thousand  miles 
away,  who  gave  nothing  in  return,  except  expensive 
impositions." 

"  You  talk  like  a  rebel  yourself,"  said  Stukeley.  "  I 
suppose  you  sympathize  with  them  ?  " 

"  Most  certainly  I  do." 

"  But  to  go  against  the  King/'  said  Olivia.  "  And 
to  cause  all  that  bloodshed." 

"  The  King,"  said  lies,  with  contempt.  "  I  don't  see 
what  you  English  fellies  want  with  a  king.  What  good 
is  a  king  to  you,  anyway  ?  I  seen  him  once.  I  wouldn't 
own  to  a  man  like  the  one  I  seen.  King  James,  hey  ?  " 

At  this  moment,  Captain  Cammock  entered,  stuffing 
a  handkerchief  between  his  white  stock  and  his  neck, 
to  arrest  the  blood  dripping  from  the  gash.  Stukeley 
grinned,  and  watched  him,  waiting  for  the  explosion. 
He  did  not  know  that  Cammock  had  guessed  Stukeley's 
plan  on  hearing  Mr.  Iles's  shrill  voice  when  Mrs.  Inigo 


A  SUPPER  PARTY  158 

opened  the  cabin  door,  so  that  she  might  carry  off  the 
soup.  He  was  angry  with  Stukeley;  but  he  was  far 
more  angry  with  his  little  second  mate.  His  first  im- 
pulse had  been  to  enter,  and  fling  Mr.  lies  through  the 
stern-window.  Then  he  thought  that  that  was  what 
Stukeley  and  lies  had  planned  between  them,  and  ex- 
pected. The  possibility  of  the  fiddle  occurred  to  him. 
It  was  just  possible  that  Olivia  had  asked  for  a  tune, 
not  knowing,  how  could  she  know,  of  the  captain's 
pride  of  place  in  old  sea-custom.  She  was  a  fine,  deli- 
cate lady.  He  wouldn't  demean  himself  before  her,  by 
noticing  any  silly  little  slight,  devised  by  a  crawler  and 
a  cur.  He  smiled  into  his  shaving-glass,  as  he  dabbed 
away  the  blood,  thinking  that  his  old  days  as  a  man  of 
war  had  taught  him  a  little  prudence.  He  referred  most 
of  his  daily  problems,  such  as  they  were,  to  their  equiv- 
alents on  the  larger  stage  of  war.  Once  or  twice,  he 
thought,  the  Spaniards  had  tempted  them,  to  make  them 
attack,  but  only  the  "  mad,  swearing,  flashy  fellows  " 
were  caught  in  that  way.  It  was  better  to  go  by  the 
difficult  road;  it  proved  the  easier  in  the  end.  He 
would  settle  with  Mr.  lies  later  on. 

He  went  to  his  place  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and 
made  some  apology  to  Olivia. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  be  so  late,  Mrs.  Stukeley." 

"  Have  you  hurt  yourself  ?  I  hope  you've  not  cut 
yourself  badly." 

"  ]STo.  No.  It  just  bleeds.  I  upset  the  alum  I  had, 
last  week.  Good  evening,  sir.  Good  evening,  mister. 
Good  evening,  Mr.  Perrin.  May  I  give  you  a  bit  more 
beef,  Mr.  lies?  I  won't  have  any  soup,  thank  you, 
stewardess.  Bring  me  the  bread-barge.  Well,  Mrs. 
Stukeley.  We'll  soon  see  Virginia  at  this  rate.  Very 
soon.  We  might  sight  the  cruiser  at  any  time." 

"  What  is  the  cruiser  ?  "  Olivia  asked. 


154  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  She's  a  man-of-war,  Mrs.  Stukeley.  She  cruises  up 
and  down  between  the  two  Capes." 

"  B'gee,  Captain  Cammock,"  said  Mr.  lies.  "  I 
should  a  thought  you'd  a  known  better'n  to  expect  to  see 
her  for  another  week." 

"  Would  you,  mister  ?  "  he  answered.  "  They  make  a 
wide  sweep  at  this  time  of  year." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  put  in  Stukeley. 

"  They  come  away  out  to  look  for  pirates.  The 
pirates  come  round  at  this  season,  Mr.  Stukeley,  to  look 
for  the  English  merchantmen." 

"  Well.  Mr.  lies  knows  Virginia,  and  he  says  they 
don't." 

«  I  can't  help  that.     Can  I  ?  " 

"  Is  there  any  chance  of  the  pirates  attacking  us  ? " 
Olivia  asked. 

"  I  should  pity  any  pirate  that  tries." 

"  Dog  doesn't  eat  dog,"  said  Stukeley.  "  Our  captain 
here's  a  pirate  himself.  He'll  give  his  old  friends  the 
wink." 

"  Was  you  really  a  pirate,  Captain  Cammock  ?  "  said 
Mr.  lies.  1 

Olivia  stared  at  the  captain  curiously. 

"  Take  away  the  beef,  stewardess,"  he  said  in  a 
natural  tone,  ignoring  the  question.  "  Steward.  Stew- 
ard there.  You  may  take  away.  Mrs.  Stukeley,  I  hope 
you'll  give  us  a  song  afterwards.  If  you'll  give  us  a 
song,  and  Mr.  lies  a  tune  on  his  fiddle,  I'll  bring  in  an- 
other treat,  and  we'll  all  be  merry." 

"  What  treat  have  you  for  us,  captain  ? "  asked  Mar- 
garet. 

"  I've  got  a  box  of  raisin-candy,  from  Ho,  in  Peru," 
he  answered.  "  It's  said  to  be  a  great  dainty ;  but  some 
people  find  it  too  sweet.  But  only  if  you  sing,  Mrs. 
Stukeley." 


A  SUPPER  PARTY  155 

"  Oh,  I'll  sing.  I  haven't  sung  for  a  week  now.  I 
shall  be  delighted  to  sing." 

"  And  you'll  sing,  too,  Mr.  Stukeley  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  vote  we  don't  sing.  Let's  have  cards. 
There's  no  sense  in  caterwauling." 

"  I  got  a  fine  song,"  said  Mr.  lies,  taking  a  pull  at  his 
glass  of  spirits. 

"  What  song  is  that  ?  "  said  Perrin. 

"  The  lament  of  the  old  buccaneer,  it's  called.  It's 
about  a  pirate  who  was  hanged.  B'gee.  He'd  been 
captain  in  a  merchant  ship  after.  But  they  hung  him." 

Captain  Cammock  asked  the  company  if  they  would 
have  any  more  duff.  He  himself  had  had  more  than 
enough. 

"  Look  at  him  blushing,"  said  Stukeley,  nudging  lies. 

At  this  moment,  there  came  loud  cries  from  the  deck, 
of  "  Watch  there.  Watch,"  shouted  by  many  voices 
cheerily.  Then  there  were  cries  of  "  Haul  in.  Haul 
in.  Haul  in.  Snatch  it  and  run  her  up."  Then  a 
silence,  a  sudden  stamp  of  feet,  and  the  voice  of  some  one 
asking  what  was  on  the  arming.  "  Sand  and  small 
shells,"  came  the  answer  of  the  boatswain.  The  diners 
at  the  cabin  table  seemed  to  see  the  man  raising  the 
heavy  plummet  to  show  the  spoils  stuck  upon  the  grease. 

"  Land  o-o-o-h,"  he  cried.  "  Land  o-o-o-h.  Hooray." 
Then  the  seamen,  gathered  in  the  waist,  with  the  redness 
of  the  sunset  on  them,  cast  loose  a  gun  at  Mr.  Cottrill's 
order.  As  the  cook,  coming  from  the  galley  with  a  red- 
hot  poker,  called  to  the  men  to  stand  clear  of  the  breech, 
Captain  Cammock  bowed  to  Olivia,  raising  his  glass. 

"  Mrs.  Stukeley,"  he  said,  "  we're  in  soundings. 
Your  very  good  health.  Soundings,  gentlemen.  You 
must  all  drink  to  soundings.  Now  then.  There  goes 
the  gun.  Three  cheers."  There  were  no  cheers  in 
Stukeley,  though  he  drank  the  toast. 


156  CAPTAIN  MAKGAKET 

Half  an  hour  later,  after  hearing  a  few  songs,  and  a 
jig  upon  the  fiddle,  Captain  Canunock  sat  smoking  in 
his  cabin.  He  struck  his  gong  to  call  the  steward. 
"  Ask  Mr.  lies  to  come  here,  please  ? "  In  a  few  min- 
utes Mr.  lies  appeared,  followed  by  Stukeley,  who  had 
expected  the  summons.  "  Mr.  Stukeley,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, "  I  shall  be  pleased  to  see  you  later.  I  wish  to 
talk  with  Mr.  lies  a  moment." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Stukeley.  "  But  I  wish  to  hear 
what  you've  got  to  say  to  Mr.  lies." 

"  It  doesn't  concern  you,  Mr.  Stukeley."  Mr.  lies 
tittered. 

"  Mr.  lies  is  my  friend,"  said  Stukeley.  "  I'll  make 
it  concern  me." 

"  Mr.  Stukeley.  I  don't  wish  to  be  rude.  But  I 
command  here.  There's  the  door." 

"  To  hell  with  the  door." 

"  Go  on  deck,  Mr.  lies,  till  I  send  for  you." 

"  Stay  here,  lies.     Look  here,  my  old  pirate " 

"  Did  you  hear  my  order,  Mr.  lies  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  No,  he  didn't  hear.  He's  accustomed  to  being  or- 
dered by  gentlemen.  He's  not  used  to  pirates." 

"  I'll  repeat  my  order.  Go  on  deck,  Mr.  lies,  and 
wait  there  till  I  send  for  you." 

"  Don't  you  do  it,  lies.  I'm  damned  if  I'd  take  an 
order  of  that  sort." 

"  Do  you  hear  me,  Mr.  lies  ?  " 

"  B'gee,  cap,  you'll  speak  to  me  like  you'd  speak  to 
any  one  else.  I  ain't  goin'  to  be  called  down  by  any 
old  pirate." 

Cammock  rose,  breathing  rather  hard,  but  speaking 
very  quietly.  "  Go  on  deck,"  he  said. 

"  He's  my  guest,"  said  Stukeley,  "  and  it's  his  watch 
below.  I'm  damned  if  he  shall  go  on  deck." 


A  SUPPER  PARTY  157 

"  Are  you  going,  Mr.  lies  ?  " 

"  Ah,  git  ter  hell." 

"  Don't  you  hit  him,"  said  Stukeley,  as  Captain  Cam- 
mock  picked  up  his  little  gong-hammer. 

"  Hit  me  ?  "  said  lies.  "  Hit  me  ?  B'gee,  cap,  you 
hit  me  and  Pll  mark  you  for  life  all  right,  all  right." 

"  I'm  not  going  to  do  any  hitting,  Mr.  Stukeley,"  said 
Cammock  quietly.  He  went  to  the  gong  and  struck  it 
softly  till  the  steward  came. 

"  Send  the  boatswain  to  me,"  said  Cammock. 

"  I  will,  seh." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  now  ? "  said  Stukeley. 
Captain  Cammock  relit  his  pipe  at  the  lamp,  stopping 
the  red  fragments  with  his  thumb.  The  boatswain 
knocked  at  the  door,  cap  in  hand. 

"  Call  all  hands  aft,  boatswain." 

"  What  der  hell  ?  "  said  Mr.  lies,  as  the  call  sounded. 
The  men  came  hurrying  aft,  swearing  at  having  their 
dog-watch  spoiled.  Some  of  them  were  half  clad,  just 
out  of  their  hammocks;  others  were  buttoning  their 
clothes.  In  the  last  of  the  daylight,  in  the  glow  which 
gives  a  holy  beauty  to  all  things,  they  seemed  a  strange 
company.  Just  so  will  the  assembling  souls  look,  when 
the  heavens  crinkle  into  flame,  as  the  triumphing  clarion 
shrills,  bringing  together  the  awed,  the  sullen,  the  ex- 
pectant. 

"  Muster  your  watch,  Mr.  lies." 

"  No.  We'll  settle  it  here,"  said  Stukeley,  thinking 
that  the  cabin  was  safer  for  his  purpose  than  the  deck. 
"  We'll  settle  it  here,  old  Brandyco." 

Cammock  brushed  past  him  and  went  on  to  the  poop, 
without  replying.  lies,  much  puzzled,  was  about  to 
follow. 

"  Don't  go,"  said  Stukeley.  "  I  wouldn't  go.  Don't 
go.  I'll  make  it  square  for  you." 


158  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  B'gee.  I'd  better  go,"  said  lies.  "  I  don't  know 
what  game  he's  up  to,  do  I  hell  ?  " 

He  went  on  deck,  to  the  starboard  side,  where  he 
began  to  muster  his  watch.  Mr.  Cottrill's  voice,  much 
more  slow  and  grave  than  his,  made  a  strange  echo  with 
him,  each  calling  a  name  in  turn,  each  drawing  a  re- 
sponse from  a  voice  of  different  pitch.  "  Shepherd." 
"Here,  sir."  "Arnold."  "Here,  sir."  "Richard 
Arnold."  "Here,  sir."  "John  Wise."  "Present, 
sir."  "  Adams."  "  At  the  wheel,  sir."  Then  the  re- 
ports :  "  Port  watch  all  present,  sir,  except  the  wheel 
and  look-outs."  "  Starboard  watch  all  present,  sir." 
"  Idlers  and  boys  all  present,  sir  " ;  followed  by  Cap- 
tain Cammock's  "  Very  well,"  as  he  paced  to  and  fro 
across  the  forward  end  of  the  poop.  Captain  Margaret 
stood  with  Perrin  by  the  poop-bell,  with  their  hats  off, 
out  of  deference  to  Captain  Cammock.  They  stood 
still  in  their  most  splendid  clothes,  just  as  they  had 
risen  from  the  feast.  They  looked  down  on  all  the  up- 
turned faces  a  few  feet  beneath  them,  wondering  at 
the  beauty  of  the  scene,  lit  now,  by  the  dying  sun,  into 
a  glow,  that  made  each  face  glorious.  Still  Captain 
Cammock  walked  to  and  fro,  casting  a  contemptuous 
glance  as  he  turned;  his  face  set  and  passionless;  his 
eyes  taking  in  each  face  of  all  the  crowd.  Stukeley, 
who  had  followed  his  friend  on  deck,  asked  Margaret 
if  he  was  going  to  lead  in  prayer ;  but  he  got  no  answer ; 
the  men,  impressed  and  puzzled,  did  not  titter.  Cam- 
mock  stopped  in  his  walk,  and  looked  over  the  poop-rail 
at  the  crew. 

"  Thomas  lies,"  he  said. 

"  Sir,"  said  lies,  turning  and  looking  up. 

"  I  break  you,  for  refusing  duty." 

"What,  sir?" 

"Mr.  Cottrill." 


A  SUPPER  PAETY  159 

«  Sir." 

"  Put  the  man  lies  in  your  watch." 

"  Very  good,  sir." 

"  lies,  go  below  and  get  your  chest.  Take  it  for- 
ward to  the  fo'c's'le.  You  belong  to  Mr.  Cottrill's 
watch." 

"  What  the  hell  "—  began  Stukeley. 

"  Silence,  please." 

"  I  ain't  goin'  to  take  no  break  from  you,"  said  lies. 

"  Mr.  Cottrill,"  said  Cammock,  "  log  that  man." 

"  Go  below  and  get  your  chest,  lies,"  said  Cottrill. 

"  Get  ter  hell,"  said  lies. 

Cottrill  walked  up  to  him  and  smote  him  in  the  eye. 
"  Get  your  chest,  pronto,"  he  said.  "  Give  me  any 
more  of  your  lip  and  I'll  lay  your  spine  bare.  Give 
him  a  hand  you,  Wise." 

"  You  know  the  rules,  men,"  said  Captain  Cammock. 
"  Choose  your  new  second  mate." 

The  men  shuffled  and  shifted.  One  of  them,  a  leader 
in  the  fo'c's'le,  shoved  the  bosun  forward.  "  What  the 
hell,  boys,"  said  the  bosun  under  his  breath.  "  We'd 
rather  you  chose,  sir,"  said  old  Sails,  coming  from 
among  the  crowd  after  a  moment  of  busy  whispering. 

"  I  choose  you,  boatswain,"  said  Cammock.  "  Ay  or 
no,  you  ? " 

"  Ay,  sir." 

"  Mr.  Eamage,  you're  our  second  mate.  Come  to 
my  cabin  at  eight  bells  and  sign  the  articles.  You, 
Griffin  Harris,  take  Mr.  Eamage's  call;  I  make  you 
boatswain.  Mr.  Eamage,  tell  one  of  the  hands  to  shift 
your  gear  into  the  second  mate's  cabin.  Harris,  bring 
your  chest  aft  to  the  round-house.  Men,  remember  that 
Mr.  Eamage  is  Mister  Eamage.  Take  the  call,  Har- 
ris." 

Griffin  Harris,  a  short,  thick-set  seaman,  hanging  his 


160  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

head  but  showing  no  trace  of  emotion,  pulled  his  fore- 
lock and  stepped  up  to  Mr.  Ramage. 

"  Beg  pardon,  Mr.  Ramage,"  he  said,  "  might  I  have 
the  call,  sir."  Mr.  Ramage  slipped  the  chain  from  his 
neck  and  handed  it  to  him. 

"  Pipe  down,  bosun." 

Harris  took  the  pipe  and  blew  the  tremolo  of  the 
belay.  The  men  turned  to  walk  forward,  just  as  lies 
and  Wise  reappeared  with  the  chest  and  bag.  Captain 
Cammock's  sternness  vanished  the  moment  the  pipe 
down  had  sounded. 

"  You'll  have  to  pipe  better  than  that,  bosun,"  he 
said.  "  You  pipe  like  Wally  with  the  stiff  neck."  The 
new  bosun  laughed.  "  I'll  pipe  fine  against  we  get 
there,  sir." 

Stukeley  walked  up  to  Captain  Cammock.  "What 
the  hell  d'you  mean  by  insulting  my  friend  ? "  he 
said. 

Cammock  paid  no  attention  to  him,  but  walked  up  to 
Margaret  to  ask  if  he  would  stand  the  first  watch  with 
the  new  second  mate. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Margaret. 

"  I  asked  you  a  question,"  said  Stukeley  bitterly,  in  a 
loud  voice,  so  that  the  men  loitering  in  the  waist  could 
hear.  "  D'ye  hear  me,  Captain  Cammock  ?  What  the 
hell  d'you  mean  by  insulting  my  friend  ?  " 

"  Stukeley,"  said  Margaret,  "  go  below." 

"  I'm  not  talking  to  you,"  said  Stukeley. 

"  No,"  said  Margaret ;  "  but  I'm  giving  you  some 
sound  advice.  Go  below." 

"  You're  a  funny  devil,  aren't  you  ?  Now  then, 
Brandyface,  you'll  give  me  an  answer." 

At  this  moment  lies  came  up,  from  his  old  haunts,  in 
the  'tween-decks,  carrying  his  demijohn  of  carefully 
saved  spirits. 


A  SUPPER  PARTY  161 

"  What  have  you  got  there,  lies  ?  "  said  the  captain 
quickly. 

"  My  whack  of  rum." 

"  Take  your  cap  off,  or  I'll  knock  it  off.  What  did 
you  say  ? " 

"  My  whack  of  rum,  Captain  Cammock,  sir." 

"  Yes.  You'd  better  remember  that.  Put  down 
that  demijohn." 

"  Please,  sir.     It's  mine,  sir." 

He  laid  down  the  demijohn,  fingering  his  cap. 

"  Steward,  whack  that  rum  out  to  all  hands  at  eight 
bells.  Allow  it  to  the  man  lies  in  the  savings  book." 

"  I  will,  seh." 

"  There,"  said  Cammock,  turning  to  Margaret. 
"  He's  not  going  to  curry  favour  forward  with  a  couple 
of  gallons  of  rum.  He'd  have  had  half  the  watch  blind 
if  I'd  not  seen  him  that  time." 

Stukeley  put  his  hand  on  Cammock's  shoulder. 
"  You  damned  old  pirate,"  he  said.  "  Now  you'll  settle 
with  me.  Your  little  go's  over.  Now  it's  mine." 

Cammock  turned  to  Margaret.  "  Take  his  other 
arm,  sir,"  he  said. 

He  caught  Stukeley  by  the  wrist  with  his  left  hand. 
Margaret  tackled  him  swiftly  on  the  other  side.  To- 
gether they  marched  him  below  to  Cammock's  cabin, 
which  they  entered  locking  the  door  behind  them. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Stukeley,"  said  Cammock,  placing  his 
prisoner  on  the  settee.  "  I  command  this  ship.  Be 
quiet  now.  Not  a  word,  sir,  till  I'm  done.  You  give 
me  any  more  trouble.  You  so  much  as  try  to  come  be- 
tween me  and  my  hands,  and  you'll  go  in  irons  till  I 
can  put  you  ashore." 

"  That's  entirely  right,  Captain  Cammock,"  said 
Margaret.  "  You'd  do  well  to  remember  it,  Stuke- 
ley." 


162  CAPTAIN  MARGAKET 

"  I'll  remember  it,"  said  Stukeley.  "  And  I'll  make 
you  two  remember  it." 

"  Another  thing,"  said  Cammock.  "  While  you  live 
aft,  you'll  act  aft.  You'll  hold  no  conversation  with 
any  member  of  my  crew,  except  through  one  of  my 
officers.  And  I  shall  expect  you  to  keep  from  the  main 
deck  and  the  'tween-decks.  I  say  nothing  about  your 
insults.  Them's  only  the  bubbling  in  your  mind,  I 
guess.  I'm  sorry  for  you.  But  give  me  no  more,  sir. 
If  you  do,  or  if  you  break  the  rules  I  make,  you'll  go 
in  irons  till  we  land." 

"  Anything  more  ?  "  said  Stukeley. 

"  There'll  be  more  when  I  see  you  need  it." 

"  All  right,  Maggy.  I'll  remember  this.  Is  that 
all  now  ?  " 

"Yes.     That's  all,"  said  Margaret. 

"  Then  I  advise  you  to  let  me  go." 

"  There's  the  door,"  said  Margaret,  turning  back  the 
key.  "  Allow  me  to  come  with  you." 

"  Thank  you.     I  choose  my  own  company." 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Cammock..  "  We  shall  do  that  for 
you.  You  ain't  fit  to  choose  your  own  company.  I'm 
sorry  to  have  to  say  it." 

"  You  wait,  Mr.  Cammock.     You  wait." 

"  Will  you  come  on  deck,  Stukeley  ?  "  said  Margaret. 
"  Or  will  you  join  your  wife  ?  " 

"  You  may  go  to  hell,"  said  Stukeley.  With  this 
repartee  he  walked  aft  to  vent  his  spleen  upon  Olivia. 
Guessing  his  intention,  Margaret  stayed  with  him  till 
the  bell  called  the  starboard  watch  on  deck. 


VII 

THE    TOBACCO    MERCHANT 

"  This  is  all  our  world ; 
We  shall  know  nothing  here  but  one  another." 

The  Two  Noble  Kinsmen. 

SIX    days    after    striking    soundings,    the   Broken 
Heart  sailed  up  the  James  River  with  the  flood, 
to  let  go  her  anchor  off  Jamestown  as  the  last  gun 
of  her  salute  was  fired.     Her  colours  were  dipped  to 
the  colours  on  the  Governor's  flagstaff.     Her  sails  were 
all  clued  up  together ;  the  bunts  of  the  furls  were  tight 
and  shapely,  crossed  by  the  broad  black  bands  of  the 
bunt-gaskets. 

Captain  Cammock  walked  the  poop  with  Margaret, 
pretending  to  watch  the  squaring  of  the  yards.  Both 
were  puzzled  and  ill  at  ease.  They  were  in  that  trou- 
blous state  of  waiting  to  be  assured ;  their  anxiety  was 
such  that  a  decisive  blow,  either  for  or  against  them, 
would  have  seemed  better  than  the  uncertainty  which 
made  them  hope  for  one  thing  while  fearing  the  other. 
On  entering  Chesapeake  Bay,  they  had  squared  their 
yards,  intending  to  run  up  past  Stingray,  to  Hog  Creek 
on  the  Accomac  side,  where  some  of  Cammock's  friends 
were  planting.  But  a  man-of-war  sloop,  flying  the  en- 
sign, and  full  of  men,  had  crossed  their  bows,  bidding 
them  heave-to  and  send  a  boat.  Cammock  had  gone 
aboard  her  to  find  out  what  she  wanted;  and  had  re- 
ceived orders  to  proceed  direct  to  Jamestown,  to  dis- 
charge his  cargo  there.  No  explanation  was  given  ex- 

163 


164  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

cept  that  "  Those  were  the  orders."  The  officer  of  the 
watch  would  tell  him  nothing  more.  He  had  returned 
on  board  after  this,  feeling  sure  that  danger  threatened 
them.  He  was  inclined  to  think  that  word  had  come 
from  England  ordering  their  arrest  on  arrival.  But  he 
was  not  sure.  The  lieutenant  had  been  surly  after  a 
drunken  night.  His  remark  of  "  You'll  find  out  about 
that  when  you  get  there  "  might  have  come  from  a  mo- 
mentary irritation  at  being  questioned.  Margaret  had 
called  up  Stukeley,  to  tell  him  his  fears,  and  Stukeley 
had  counselled  putting  to  sea.  This  was  impossible; 
for  the  sloop  was  almost  within  hail;  while  without 
Point  Comfort,  under  her  whole  topsails,  her  open  port- 
lids  flashing,  was  one  of  the  two  frigates  on  the  station 
coming  in  from  her  cruise  to  take  fresh  water.  They 
were  in  the  trap;  they  could  only  hope  for  the  best. 
Stukeley  took  the  news  badly.  He  stood  by  the  mizen 
rigging,  with  a  white  face,  licking  his  lips  and  making 
wild  suggestions. 

"  Couldn't  you  put  me  ashore  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Send 
me  in  a  boat.  Until  you  leave  ?  " 

"  How  about  Olivia  ?  Have  you  told  her  yet,  what 
you  expect  ? " 

"  No,  of  course  I've  not  told  her.  Can't  you  talk 
sense  ? " 

11  Hadn't  you  better  tell  her  ?  I  mean,  as  —  in  kind- 
ness to  her." 

"  No.     I  can't." 

"Shall  I  tell  her?" 

"  My  God,  no.  Look  here,  Margaret.  I  tell  you 
why  I  can't  tell  her.  I'm  a  blackguard,  and  all  that. 
Look  here.  She's  going  to  have  a  child." 

"  My  God.     Are  you  sure,  Stukeley  ?  " 

"  Sure  ?  Damn  it,  man.  It's  serious.  For  God's 
sake  talk  sense." 


THE  TOBACCO  MERCHANT  165 

"Well.     My  God.     She  must  be  told,  man.     It'll 
only  be  worse  for  her  later." 

"  No,  it  won't  be." 

"  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Do  ?     I  tell  you  it'll  be  death  for  her  if  she  learns." 

"  But  you  must  think  of  her,  Stukeley.  Man.  How. 
Supposing.  She  can't  come  to  Darien.  It's  impossi- 
ble." 

"  It's  not  impossible.     It'd  be  all  right." 

"  Well,  Stukeley,  I  give  you  up." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Things  must  take  their  course.  I  can't  think  what 
I  can  do." 

"  Are  you  going  to  give  me  up  ?  " 

"  You  must  see  that  you'll  be  taken.  If  there's  a 
letter." 

"  If.     If.     Oh.     Good  luck,  you." 

"  Yes.  But  think  of  Olivia.  Man.  She  must  go 
home.  You  must  see  that." 

"  Yes.  But  she  doesn't.  You  know  how  queer 
women  get  at  these  times.  She  insists  on  coming  with 
me." 

"  I  don't  know.  Go  and  tell  her.  Go  on  and  tell 
her,  cost  what  it  may." 

"  I've  got  to  consider  her  child." 

"  Captain  Cammock,  you've  got  a  clear  head.  What 
do  you  say  ?  " 

"  You  could  head  me  up  in  a  cask,"  said  Stukeley. 

"  Well,"  said  Cammock.  "  I  say,  go  and  eat  a  good 
big  dinner.  We  shan't  be  in  till  afternoon ;  till  two  or 
three,  perhaps,  if  the  wind  drops.  If  there's  to  be  an 
arrest,  you'll  know  of  it  soon  enough.  It'll  settle  itself. 
Don't  cross  no  river  till  you  come  to  the  water.  Why  ? 
Cos  you  may  get  drowned  anyway." 

"  But  about  my  wife  ?  " 


166  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  Oh,  she'll  be  well  looked  after.  We'll  look  after 
her." 

"  Damn  you." 

"  Captain  Margaret,"  said  Cammock,  "  just  come  aft 
with  me,  while  I  take  some  bearings." 

When  they  had  walked  out  of  earshot  of  Stukeley, 
Cammock  added  that  it  would  be  a  good  thing  to  let  the 
man  suffer  for  a  spell. 

"  But  how  about  Mrs.  Stukeley,  captain  ?  And  her 
little  one  ?  " 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  them,  sir.  I'm  thinking  of 
you  and  Mr.  Perrin.  And  the  ship,  too.  We  may  be  a 
political  matter,  sir.  The  Lords  who  fitted  us  out; 
they've  got  enemies  —  political  enemies.  They  may 
say,  '  Oh,  you've  sent  out  a  gang  of  pirates,  who  rescue 
escaping  felons.'  There  may  be  the  devil's  own  row 
at  home  about  us.  Law  is  all  right  and  fair.  But 
there's  no  law  nor  right  in  politics." 

"We  shall  know  soon." 

"Yes.     Very  soon  now." 

"  It's  anxious  work,  waiting." 

"  Why,  yes.     Worse  than  the  event." 

"  It'll  come  hard  on  that  poor  girl." 

"  She's  better  quit  of  him,  sir.     Much  better." 

"  She  won't  think  that." 

"  Not  at  first.     But  she  will." 

"  I  wonder  what  it's  going  to  be.  Pretty,  that  little 
cove  there,  with  the  little  green  boat  coming  out." 

"  Very  pretty  sights  at  sea,  sir.  Nice  bit  of  timber 
yonder.  Good  spars  in  them  red  pine.  Don't  borrow 
trouble,  sir.  We'll  know  soon  enough." 

Thus  they  talked  together  as  the  ship  came  slowly  to 
her  anchorage.  Perrin  joined  them,  seemingly  indiffer- 
ent to  the  present  trouble.  "  Whatever  happens,"  he 
said,  "  we  shall  be  ourselves.  It's  no  use  worrying." 


THE  TOBACCO  MERCHANT  167 

% 

He  smoked  more  than  usual  after  dinner,  and  then  made 
outline  draughts  of  the  coast.  He  was  not  being  brave ; 
but  having  little  imagination  he  was  indifferent.  It 
was  hot,  too;  and  hot  weather  always  made  him  dull. 
The  sight  of  the  new  land  pleased  him.  There  was  for- 
est ;  miles  of  forest ;  forest  rising  over  hills,  lapsing  to 
hollows  of  marsh,  coming  down  to  the  sea,  fading  in  a 
blur  of  branches.  Here  and  there  were  clearings. 
Here  and  there,  in  sandy  bays,  the  cows  came,  lowing 
at  the  sea.  Smoke,  in  blue  spires,  rose  up  at  a  planter's 
slip  where  a  sloop  was  building.  At  times,  as  they 
neared  the  land,  before  going  about  on  another  reach, 
they  heard  the  voices  of  men,  the  chop  of  axes  upon 
timber.  A  country  sloop  lay  at  a  jetty.  Her  men 
were  hoisting  casks  aboard,  singing  at  the  tackles.  A 
saw  was  at  work  at  hand.  Men  were  carrying  planks 
to  the  jetty  end.  One  of  the  men,  laying  down  his 
load,  waved  to  the  ship  as  Captain  Cammock  flung  his 
colours  out.  Very  proudly,  with  all  the  dignity  of 
beauty,  the  Broken  Heart  marched  to  her  rest.  Her 
sailors  cheered.  They  fired  their  guns,  took  up  their 
berth  and  anchored.  Jamestown  lay  before  them ;  with 
some  twenty  of  her  citizens  watching  them  from  the 
battery.  Already  one  or  two  men  were  putting  out  in 
boats  towards  them. 

"  That's  not  the  whole  city,"  said  Perrin.  "  There's 
only  twenty  or  thirty  houses,  beside  the  fort  and  the 
church." 

"  That's  Jamestown,"  said  Cammock.  "  Now,  Cap- 
tain Margaret.  Now  for  it." 

"  Not  much  longer  to  wait.  We'll  go  ashore  to- 
gether." 

"  No,  sir.  I'll  go  alone.  If  anything's  going  to 
happen,  I'll  send  off  word.  Then  you  can  look  to  the 
lady." 


168  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  Ah,  thank  you,  Captain." 

"  Well.  We'll  know  soon.  I'll  wave  my  hat  from 
the  pier  if  it's  all  well,  sir.  Cheer  up,  sir.  Mr.  Cot- 
trill,  there." 

"  Ay,  ay,  Captain  Cammock." 

"  My  gig's  crew,  mister.  Are  they  in  their 
whites  ? " 

"  Gig's  crew  all  dressed,  sir." 

"  Tell  the  bosun  to  pipe  them  away.  No  one  to  come 
aboard,  Mr.  Cottrill." 

"  No  one  to  come  aboard,  sir." 

"  You  better  keep  an  eye  on  Mr.  Stukeley,  Captain 
Margaret.  He  may  cut  up  rash." 

"  I  will.     Good-bye,  captain.     Good  luck." 

"  We'll  know  soon." 

"  Got  your  papers  ?  " 

"  All  correct,  sir.  Now."  He  passed  over  the  side, 
and  shoved  off. 

Margaret  watched  the  boat  pull  past,  glad  of  that 
small  diversion.  She  was  a  six-oar  gig,  whale-built, 
painted  dark-blue  and  white,  steering,  on  state  occasions, 
with  a  brass-yoked  rudder,  at  other  times  with  an  oar. 
A  boy  in  a  white  jacket  steered  her  with  the  yoke-lines, 
sitting  behind  Cammock's  back-board. 

"  Look,  Edward,"  said  Margaret.  "  How  character 
shows  in  little  things.  Look  at  the  style  of  the  rowers. 
Look  at  the  stroke,  bowing  his  head  as  he  comes  aft, 
and  the  two  midship  oars  watching  their  blades.  What 
makes  men  watch  their  blades  ?  " 

"  Weak  will.  Or  vanity.  I  always  do  it.  A  sense 
of  beauty,  too.  Desire  of  pleasure.  The  swirl  and  the 
bubbles  are  beautiful.  What  do  you  make  of  the 
bow?" 

"  He's  not  got  room  to  pull.  The  stern-sheets  are 
too  roomy." 


169 

"  He's  a  coward,"  said  Perrin.  "  I  should  be  like 
that.  He  shirks  each  stroke  because  he's  afraid  of 
knocking  the  second  bow's  back." 

"  Yes.     That's  it." 

"  The  weakest  man  is  always  put  in  the  bow.  He 
has  to  jump  out  with  the  painter." 

"  The  most  intelligent  man,  probably." 

"  No.  I  shouldn't  say  the  most  intelligent.  The 
most  sensitive." 

"  What  do  you  make  of  Cammock's  back  ?  " 

"  Cammock's  a  fine  fellow." 

"  Isn't  it  strange  that  he  should  be  what  he  is  ?  " 

"  After  mixing Good  Lord,  what  ruffians  he's 

mixed  with." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  how  he  comes  by  it.  I'm  a 
great  believer  in  heredity.  I  wonder  what  his  people 
were.  He's  got  refinement,  too,  in  a  curious  sort  of 
way." 

"  The  poor  are  often  very  refined,"  said  Perrin. 
"  The  very  poor.  Especially  in  the  country." 

"  I  suppose  because  they've  nothing  to  make  them 
false." 

"  Yes." 

"  You  know,  Edward,  that  Olivia's  going  to  have  a 
child  ? " 

"  No.  Good  Lord.  What  in  the  world  ?  Suppos- 
ing there's  a  letter  ?  " 

"  That's  the  question.  There  it  is.  And  there  goes 
Cammock  up  the  stage." 

"  But  it  knocks  her  coming  to  Darien  ?  " 

"  Stukeley  says  not." 

"Good  God,  though.     It  must." 

"  We  probably  shan't  leave  here,  Edward.  And  any- 
way he's  her  husband." 

"  You  must  refuse  to  take  her." 


1TO  CAPTAIN  MAEGAEET 

"  Yes.  But  even  if  we  get  to  Darien  —  I  don't  think 
it  likely  —  she's  as  well  with  us  as  here,  Edward." 

"  That's  true,  too.  Well.  I  told  you  how  it  would 
be,  Charles.  Didn't  I  ?  " 

Cammock  was  a  long  time  gone ;  but  not  such  a  long 
time  as  it  seemed.  Margaret,  deserted  by  Perrin,  who 
was  called  away  by  Cottrill,  paced  the  poop  moodily, 
losing,  in  dejection,  the  clumsy  trick  of  carriage  which 
marred  his  gait.  His  ordinary  walk  had  a  kind  of 
jaunty  spring,  which  seemed  unnatural  to  the  man,  im- 
proper to  his  essential  character.  There  was  no  jaunti- 
ness  in  him  at  this  moment ;  for  his  trouble  was  heavy. 
For  possible  arrest  he  cared  nothing ;  for  possible  hang- 
ing he  cared  nothing.  "  I  shall  still  be  myself,"  he  said, 
repeating  what  Perrin  had  repeated  from  another. 
"  What  does  it  matter  if  I  am  hanged  ?  "  Bells  seemed 
to  be  ringing  in  his  brain,  heavy  bells  and  dull,  with 
merry  impish  bells.  "  Olivia's  going  to  have  a  child," 
they  said.  "  Olivia's  going  to  have  a  child.  Going  to 
have  a  child.  A  child.  A  child."  Like  many  lonely 
men,  he  desired  children.  They  had  played  about  him 
in  his  dreams  of  her.  Girls  mostly,  with  Olivia's  eyes, 
her  throat,  her  voice.  Now  was  come  the  end  of  every- 
thing. Her  child  would  be  a  monster,  a  goat-footed 
boy,  a  Stukeley.  He  shuddered  to  think  of  the  child's 
hair,  curling  and  black  like  the  father's  hair,  negro  hair ; 
his  nerves  were  shaken.  As  for  his  love  for  Olivia, 
that  would  never  be  the  same;  it  was  changed  now, 
wholly  changed.  ISTo  man's  love  could  bear  that,  could 
forgive  that ;  though  it  glorified  her,  in  a  way,  and  made 
her  very  sacred. 

He  leaned  over  the  taffrail,  to  watch  for  Cammock, 
who  had  vanished  among  the  strangers,  like  a  stone  cast 
into  water.  Something  stirred  beside  him,  and  there 


THE  TOBACCO  MEECHANT  171 

was  Olivia,  dressed  in  clothes  which  she  had  worn  long 
ago  at  home,  looking  as  she  had  looked  then;  but  that 
her  face  was  paler.  He  started  to  see  her,  thinking  for 
a  moment  that  she  had  come  to  tell  him,  hoping  it  with 
all  his  heart.  It  would  make  their  friendship  perfect, 
he  thought,  if  this  might  be  done  together.  She  smiled 
to  see  him  start;  but  her  face  instantly  grew  grave 
again. 

"  Charles,"  she  said,  "  is  anything  the  matter  with 
Tom?" 

"  Matter  with  him  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  Is  he  ill  ?  Has 
he  hurt  himself  ?  "  For  just  one  wild  second,  he  won- 
dered, in  an  agony  that  was  half  hope,  if  the  man  had 
taken  poison. 

"  I  can't  get  him  to  speak  to  me.  And  he's  so  white, 
Charles,  I  can't  help  thinking  that  he  is  sunstruck." 

"Shall  I  go  down?" 

"  He  won't  see  anybody.  He  won't Oh, 

Charles,  I  wish  I'd  been  on  deck  with  him.  Was  he  in 
the  sun  ?  Are  you  sure  he  wasn't  ?  " 

"  He  wasn't  in  the  sun;  Olivia.  He  wasn't  on  deck 
for  more  than  a  few  minutes." 

"  But  where  was  he,  then  ?  He  must  have  been  for- 
ward, where  you  couldn't  see  him." 

"  I  do  hope  he  wasn't,"  said  Margaret,  hating  him- 
self for  his  deception.  The  words  "  Mrs.  Inigo  "  rose 
to  his  lips ;  but  he  kept  from  uttering  them.  "  I  ought 
to  have  prevented  all  this.  I  might  have.  I  ought  to 

have  kept  them  apart  till She  ought  not  to  be 

fretting."  He  bit  his  lips  at  the  thought  of  his  negli- 
gence. 

".I'll  come  down  at  once,  Olivia,"  he  said.  "  Oh, 
Olivia,"  he  added,  his  voice  growing  tender  and  mov- 
ing "  you  look  so  white  and  worried.  I'll  look  after 


172  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

Stukeley.  Won't  you  lie  down  and  rest?  It's  much 
too  hot  for  you  in  the  sun  here.  And  then  the  excite- 
ment." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  me,"  she  said  hurriedly,  almost 
gaily.  "I'm  not  in  the  least  ill.  It's  Tom."  As 
women  sometimes  will,  in  moments  of  emotion,  she 
acted  impulsively,  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm,  sending 
the  blood  to  his  temples. 

"  Come  on  down,  then,"  he  said  thickly.  "  We'll 
see.  We'll  see  your  husband."  He  glanced  over  the 
side  again,  biting  his  lips,  his  face  turned  away,  as  she 
took  his  arm.  In  that  glance  he  saw  the  slip  below  the 
battery,  with  its  green  piles,  barnacled,  clucked  about 
by  the  tides,  mounted  with  tarpaulined  cannon.  Cam- 
mock  stood  upon  the  slip  end,  his  gig's  crew,  their  oars 
tossed,  just  below  him.  Townsmen  were  talking  to  him ; 
but  he  stood  unheeding,  looking  at  the  Broken  Heart, 
waving  his  hat.  Margaret  waved  his  hat  in  answer,  to 
show  that  he  saw;. then,  breathing  a  deep  sigh,  he  led 
Olivia  below. 

"  Why.     What  makes  you  sigh  like  that  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Why  do  I  sigh  ?  Captain  Cammock  was  signalling 
to  me.  I  was  afraid  we  might  be  quarantined.  But 
it's  all  right  now.  He's  signalled  that  it's  all  right. 
I'm  relieved." 

"  Charles,"  she  said,  pausing  in  the  alleyway,  "  I 
sometimes  feel  that  I've  given  you  pain  by  coming  with 
you  like  this.  Have  I  ?  " 

"  No,  Olivia,"  he  answered.     "  How  could  you  ?  " 

"  But  are  you  sure  ?  I  couldn't  bear  to  think  that  I 
had." 

"  I  am  very  sure  of  that,  Olivia." 

"  You  aren't  angry  with  me  for  asking  ?  " 

"  We're  old  friends,  you  and  I,  Olivia.  Old  friends 
like  you  and  I  don't  get  angry  with  each  other." 


THE  TOBACCO  MERCHANT  173 

"  Some  day  I  hope  you'll  marry,  Charles.  You'd 
make  the  right  woman  very  happy." 

"  Ah  no,  no.     We  mustn't  talk  of  that." 

"  You  will,  Charles.  You  will.  And  yet  it  would 
be  sad  to  see  all  one's  boy  and  girl  friends  married.  A 
woman  doesn't  like  to  feel  old." 

"  Olivia." 

"  Now  come  in  and  see  Tom.  Do  you  think  there 
are  good  doctors  here  ?  "  The  question  was  earnestly 
asked.  It  seemed  to  Margaret  that  it  took  for  granted 
that  he  knew,  that  it  was  the  woman's  way  of  taking 
him  into  her  confidence,  into  the  dark,  locked  cupboard, 
meagrely  catalogued  without,  which  is  a  woman's  con- 
fidence. It  made  a  strange  jangling  of  all  his  strings  to 
hear  her.  In  the  dark  passage  there,  with  her  great 
eyes  looking  into  his,  and  the  earrings  gleaming  palely 
against  the  hair,  she  moved  him,  she  shook  him  out  of 
tune. 

"  Olivia,"  he  said,  stammering.  "  Olivia.  If. 
When.  When  your.  If  you  ever  have  a  child,  Olivia. 

Will  you  let  me  —  let  me Let  me  see  it  often. 

Be  its  godfather.  Be  something  to  it  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  said  softly,  pressing  the  back  of 
his  hand  quickly.  "  Yes,  Charles.  I  promise  you 
that." 

"  You  aren't  hurt,  Olivia  ?  " 

"  No,  Charles.     Not  hurt." 

"  God  bless  you,  Olivia." 

"  Come  ijo.  to  Tom,  now,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 
She  was  moved  and  touched.  They  went  in. 

Stukeley  sat  at  the  cabin  table,  drinking  brandy  with- 
out water.  He  was  white  and  sick.  Their  entrance 
made  him  start  up  with  an  oath. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Stukeley  ? "  said  Margaret. 
"  We  aren't  going  into  —  into  quarantine.  Cammock's 


174  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

signalled  that  it's  all  right.  What's  the  matter  with 
you  ?  Let  me  feel  your  pulse." 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  gasping.  "  Ah.  This  heat's  upset 
me." 

"  How  are  you,  Tom  ? "  Olivia  tenderly  asked. 
"  How's  your  head  ?  " 

"Oh,  my  head's  all  right.  Don't  bother.  Don't 
bother."  He  rose  from  his  seat,  laughing  wildly. 
"  What  a  turn  it  gave  me,"  he  said.  "  I'm  going  to  see 
old  Brandyco.  I'm  all  right  again,  Olivia."  He  took 
her  by  the  shoulders  and  bent  back  her  head  so  that  he 
might  kiss  her.  "  Poor  little  Olive,"  he  said  caress- 
ingly, pinching  her  arms.  "  She's  been  worrying,  ever 
so.  Hasn't  she  ?  Hasn't  she  ?  Eh  ?  "  He  kissed  her 
eyes.  Margaret  turned  away,  wondering  whether  the 
kiss  smelt  worse  of  brandy  or  tobacco. 

"  Don't  go  on  deck,"  said  Olivia.  "  Don't  go  on 
deck,  Tom  dear.  The  sun's  so  strong." 

"  But  you'll  want  to  hear  about  Jamestown  from 
Cammock." 

"  No,  Tom  dear.  I  don't.  I  want  you.  I  want  you 
to  rest  and  get  well." 

"  I'd  like.     I  must  just  see  Cammock." 

"  But  what  makes  you  so  eager  to  see  Captain  Cam- 
mock,  Tom  ?  " 

"  Stukeley  looks  on  the  captain  as  a  sort  of  a  show," 
said  Margaret  quickly.  "  The  captain  has  just  been 
talking  with  strangers.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  see  a 
man  who'd  really  seen  a  new  face,  Olivia.;  and  heard 
a  new  voice  ?  " 

Olivia  smiled. 

"  I  don't  think  Tom's  strong  enough  for  excitements," 
she  said. 

"  No,"  said  Margaret,  leaving  the  cabin.  "  But  I 
don't  think  there's  much  wrong.  I  think  he'll  soon  be 


THE  TOBACCO  MERCHANT  175 

all  right,  Olivia.  Make  him  lie  down  and  rest.  I  must 
just  see  the  captain."  He  went  on  deck  hurriedly,  hold- 
ing his  breath  till  he  was  in  the  fresh  air.  "  Poison," 
he  said  to  himself.  "  Poison.  What  a  life.  What 
squalor.  That  woman  going  to  have  a  child.  And 
Stukeley,  pah.  Drinking  and  smoking  there,  waiting 
to  be  dragged  to  gaol.  She  doesn't  see  it.  One  would 
think  he  must  shock  every  fibre  of  her  nature.  And  he 
doesn't.  He  gives  her  love,  I  suppose.  That  was  the 
only  thing  she  wanted.  And  now  that  beast  is  her 
standard."  In  the  pure  air  he  blamed  himself  for 
thinking  ill  of  her.  "  After  all,"  he  thought,  "  Stukeley 
isn't  a  beast  to  her.  She,  with  her  much  finer  sense,  sees 
something  in  him.  Something  that  is  all  the  world  to 
her.  Something  beautiful.  She  may  even  be  happy 
with  him.  She  may  be."  He  thought  pitifully  of 
women  and  angrily  of  men.  It  was  all  wrong,  he 
thought.  Men  and  women  could  never  understand 
each  other,  except  in  rare  moments,  in  love,  when  the 
light  in  each  heart  burned  clearly.  Women  were  hid- 
den ;  they  were  driven  to  covert,  poor  trembling  fawns. 
They  were  like  the  nymphs  hidden  in  the  reeds  by  the 
river.  They  took  care  that  men  should  see  only  the 
reeds.  He  had  never  really  seen  Olivia;  he  was  not 
sure  if  he  knew  her  yet;  he  couldn't  say  what  it  was 
that  he  loved.  He  did  not  care;  he  was  not  going  to 
ask.  She  was  beautiful ;  her  beauty  moved  him  to  the 
bone;  beauty  was  in  all  of  her,  in  the  whole  woman, 
the  whole  nature,  body  and  spirit,  in  the  ways  of  body 
and  spirit.  She  was  going  to  have  a  child;  Stukeley's 
child;  red-cheeked,  curly;  a  little  boy-beast,  the  bully 
of  his  school.  An,,  but  the  child  would  be  hers,  too. 
She  would  bring  it  up  to  be  like  her.  He  would  have 
that  refinement  of  voice,  that  lovely,  merry,  almost  timid 
manner,  her  eyes,  her  grace,  her  shyness.  Captain 


176  CAPTAIN  MARGAKET 

Cammock,  who  had  been  watching  him  for  a  full  thirty 
seconds,  half  amused,  half  sad,  that  his  passion  had  so 
strong  a  hold  still,  even  in  a  moment  of  anxiety,  now 
tapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"Ah,  captain." 

"  It's  all  right,  sir.  Nothing  come  yet.  You  can 
land  your  goods  as  soon  as  you  like.  The  Governor 
said  he  remembered  you,  and  hopes  that  you  will  wait 
upon  him." 

"  Good.     I  will." 

"  It  is  good,  sir.  Oh,  I've  ordered  some  fresh  meat, 
sir,  and  some  fowls." 

"  Yes.  We  must  feast  to-night.  And  send  the  boat 
in  for  a  cask  of  fresh  water.  Two-month  water  is  poor 
tipple." 

"  Yes.  What  would  you  say  to  six-month  water  ? 
We  must  give  a  free  pump  in  port.  And  a  cask  of  rum 
or  beer,  sir,  on  the  quarter-deck,  would  help  our  trade. 
For  visitors  you  know,  sir." 

"  See  to  it  then,  captain.  A  letter  may  come  while 
we're  here,  though." 

"  Then  make  the  Governor  and  the  others  your 
friends.  Send  'em  a  few  cases  of  wine.  Square  the 
man-of-war  captains.  There'll  be  no  trouble  if  you 
make  them  all  your  friends." 

"  It  doesn't  sound  pretty." 

"  Nor  a  wrung  neck  don't  look  it." 

During  the  next  few  days  there  was  bustle  in  the 
Broken  Heart.  Visitors  came  aboard  to  look  at  samples 
of  goods;  to  talk  with  the  seamen;  and  to  taste  the 
rum  and  beer,  which  was  served  out,  a  cup  to  each 
comer,  for  the  first  forty-eight  hours  of  her  stay  in  the 
port.  All  sorts  came  aboard  her ;  traders  and  planters, 
oyster  and  fisher  men,  soldiers  from  the  fort,  officers  of 
the  Governor's  house,  Indians,  men  from  the  backwoods, 


THE  TOBACCO  MEKCHANT  177 

trappers,  a  sun-burned,  good-humoured,  silent  company, 
very  sharp  at  a  bargain. 

After  the  first  two  days,  the  trade  began.  The  sea- 
men rigged  up  trading-booths  ashore,  with  some  old 
sails,  stretched  upon  poles.  Planks  were  laid  upon 
casks  to  serve  as  trade  tables.  The  goods  were  arranged 
at  the  back  of  each  booth,  in  the  care  of  trusty  hands. 
Clothing  was  more  in  demand  than  any  other  kind  of 
goods;  but  the  only  clothes  bought  were  those  of  fine 
quality  and  beautiful  colour.  It  puzzled  Captain  Mar- 
garet to  see  a  small  planter,  owning  perhaps  only  one 
white  apprenticed  servant,  or  redemptioner,  buying 
clothes  of  great  price,  putting  them  on  in  the  booth, 
and  riding  off,  like  an  earl,  on  his  little  Virginian  horse, 
to  his  little  clearing  in  the  wilderness.  A  few  planters, 
especially  those  who  were  newly  come  to  the  colony  from 
the  islands,  where  they  had  been  privateering,  paid 
for  their  purchases  in  ounces  of  silver.  It  was  easy 
to  recognize  these  planters.  They  had  not  lost  their 
sea-walk,  nor  that  steadfast  anxiety  of  gaze  which  marks 
the  sailor.  They  all  carried  arms;  though  the  richer 
sort  of  them  wore  only  pistols  and  a  knife,  leaving  the 
carriage  of  the  musket,  the  bag  containing  lead,  a  mould, 
and  some  bullets,  and  the  heavy  leather-covered  powder- 
bottle,  to  a  redemptioner,  a  Moskito  Indian,  or,  more 
rarely,  to  a  negro  slave.  Cammock  had  known  some 
of  these  men  in  the  past.  Often,  as  he  sat  in  the  shade, 
watching  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  now  so  glorious  with 
coming  autumn,  Captain  Margaret  would  see  one  of 
these  strangers  approaching,  followed  by  his  man.  He 
was  always  impressed  by  them,  sometimes  by  their  physi- 
cal splendour,  sometimes  by  the  sense  that  they  were 
full  of  a  rather  terrible  exuberance.  As  he  watched 
such  a  man  approaching  the  booths,  puffing  at  his  pipe, 
dressed  in  elaborate  clothes,  hung  about  with  silver  at 


178  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

all  points,  with  silver  buttons,  silver  brooches,  silver 
discs,  buckles  of  heavy  silver,  links  and  stars  of  silver, 
silver  chains  and  necklets,  so  that  the  man's  whole 
wealth  was  on  his  body  at  one  time,  Captain  Margaret 
was  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  envy.  His  own  training, 
his  own  beautifully  ordered  life  in  an  English  college, 
had  shut  him  off  from  such  a  life  as  this  man's.  This 
clashing,  tinkling  pirate  —  he  was  nothing  more,  al- 
though he  often  looked  so  fine  —  was  master  of  his 
world.  Captain  Margaret  was  the  slave  of  his ;  the  un- 
happy slave.  The  pirate  could  leave  his  plantation 
when  he  wished,  letting  the  wild  bines  choke  his  to- 
bacco. He  could  ship  himself  in  any  ship  in  the  har- 
bour, and  go  to  any  part  of  the  world  which  pleased  his 
fancy.  If  chance  flung  him  down  in  a  tropical  forest, 
on  an  island  in  the  sea,  in  a  battle,  in  a  shipwreck,  at 
a  wedding,  he  would  know  what  to  do,  what  to  say,  what 
to  propose.  The  world  had  no  terrors  for  such  a  man. 
Captain  Margaret  forgot,  when  he  thought  thus  en- 
viously, that  he  himself  was  one  of  the  few  who  had 
escaped  from  the  world,  escaped  from  that  necessity 
for  tooth  and  claw  which  is  nature ;  and  that  by  being 
no  longer  "  natural,"  instinctive,  common,  he  had  risen 
to  something  higher,  to  a  point  from  which  he  could 
regard  the  pirate  as  an  interesting  work  of  art.  He 
never  pursued  his  fancy  far  enough  to  ask  himself  if  he 
would  willingly  imitate  or  possess  that  work;  because 
the  pirate,  passing  him  by  with  a  hard,  shrewd  glance, 
would  stride  into  the  booth,  taking  off  his  hat  to  thrust 
back  his  long  hair.  He  would  listen  then  to  the  con- 
versation. If  the  man  was  known  to  Cammock,  the 
talk  began  promptly. 

"  Any  Don  Peraltoes,  this  trip  ?  " 

"  What  ?     Peraltoes  ?     You  weren't  there  ?  " 

"Ain't  you  Ned?" 


THE  TOBACCO  MEKCHANT  179 

"And  you're  Lion.  I'd  never  have  known  you. 
Any  of  'em  with  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  quit  the  trade.  Come  and  have  some- 
thing." 

Then  they  would  mix  some  rum  and  sugar,  and 
sprinkle  the  mixture  with  a  squeeze  of  a  scrap  of  lemon- 
peel.  They  would  drink  together,  calling  their  curious 
toasts  of  "  Sahie,"  "  Here's  How,"  "  Happy  Days,"  and 
"  Plenty  Dollars."  Then,  over  the  trade  as  the  men 
haggled  — 

"  Got  any  powder,  Lion  ?  " 

"  I  can  only  sell  powder  if  you've  a  license  from  the 
Governor." 

"  Any  small  arms  ?  " 

"  The  same  there." 

"  Them's  a  nice  lot  of  macheats.  How  do  they 
come  ?  " 

"  An  ounce  apiece.     Or  fifty  pound  of  leaf." 

"  Steep.     Let's  see  one.     A  good  trade  knife." 

"  What  are  you  doing  now  ?  " 

"  I  got  about  fifty  acres  burned  off.  That's  the 
grant  here,  Lion,  fifty  acres.  Tobacco,  you  know.  I 
do  a  bit  of  fishing,  whiles.  A  nice  handy  sloop,  I  got. 
Small,  of  course." 

"  Crops  good  ?  " 

"  A  sight  too  good,  if  you  ask  me.  This  black  soil'll 
sprout  a  coffin.  But  tobacco's  away  down.  We  burn 
half  our  crops,  trying  to  keep  up  prices.  It's  only  worth 
about  ninepence." 

"  Are  you  going  to  stick  at  it  ?  " 

"  It's  a  bit  quiet.     I  lie  out  in  the  woods  whiles." 

"  Anything  else  doing  ?  " 

"  You  were  here  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  come  here  with  Crawfot's  party.  I  was  here. 
Yes.  Sure." 


180  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  Crawfot's  dead,  if  you  mean  Tom.  Did  yon  ever 
try  any  running  ?  " 

"  Running  rum  from  Jamaica  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  do  a  bit  that  way.  Other  things,  too.  I'm 
in  with  some  of  Ned's  lot." 

"Ned  Davis?" 

"  Yes.  We  run  blacks  sometimes,  too.  Run  'em 
into  Carolina.  New  York  sometimes." 

"Ah.     How  did  Tom  die?" 

"  Indians.  I  done  a  bit  that  way,  too,  Lion.  You 
catch  two  or  three  squaws.  They  fetch  as  much  as  a 
white  woman  down  to  Campeachy.  Two  or  three  of 
them ;  it  runs  into  money." 

"  I've  known  that  done,"  said  Cammock.  "  The  man 
done  it  was  Robert  Jolly.  He  come  to  a  jolly  end, 
what's  more.  The  braves  got  him." 

"  There's  always  a  risk  of  that,"  said  Ned.  "  And 
it's  10,000  Ibs.  of  leaf  fine,  if  the  Governor  gets  you." 

"  Well,  Ned.  If  you  want  fun,  why  don't  you  come 
in  with  us.  And  bring  in  some  of  your  mates." 

"  Is  this  trade  only  a  blind,  then  ?  " 

"  Not  on  your  life.  But  we're  in  for  a  big  thing.  A 
very  big  thing.  I  wouldn't  mention  it.  But  you  see, 
I  know  you,  Ned ;  and  so,  you  see,  it's  like  this." 

Between  them,  Margaret  and  Cammock  persuaded 
some  half  a  dozen  recruits  to  join  during  the  first  few 
days  in  port.  The  new  recruits  promised  to  come 
aboard  when  the  ship  sailed,  but  not  before,  lest  the 
Governor  should  grow  suspicious.  They  agreed,  also, 
seeing  that  Margaret  had  a  commission,  to  submit  to  a 
sharper  discipline  than  was  usual  among  privateers. 
Margaret  had  no  intention  of  admitting  these  men  into 
his  fo'c's'le.  They  were  not  waged  men  like  the  seamen 
shipped  in  London ;  but  volunteers  agreeing  to  serve  for 
shares.  To  admit  them  into  the  fo'c's'le,  where  they 


THE  TOBACCO  MEKCHAOT  181 

would  enjoy  certain  privileges  not  shared  by  the  sailors, 
would  cause  bad  blood,  and  bickering  for  precedence. 
To  avoid  this,  he  planned  with  Cammock  to  create  a 
military  company,  to  be  called  "  the  men  of  war."  The 
privateers  who  joined  him  were  to  be  enlisted  in  this 
company,  under  the  command  (as  he  suggested)  of  an 
old  buccaneer  (one  of  the  first  to  join)  who  kept  an  ale- 
house some  miles  out  of  Jamestown.  This  old  man 
was  named  Raphael  Gamage.  He  had  served  with  Cam- 
mock  many  years  before  in  Morgan's  raid  on  Porto 
Bello.  As  far  as  Cammock  could  remember,  he  was  a 
trusty  old  man,  well  liked.  The  troop  of  men  of  war 
(when  fully  recruited)  was  to  mess  in  the  'tween-decks ; 
just  forward  of  the  officers'  cabins  and  the  wardroom. 
At  sea,  they  were  to  work  the  mizen-mast,  standing  three 
watches.  In  battle,  half  of  them  were  to  man  the  quar- 
ter-deck guns,  while  the  other  half  walked  the  poop  as 
sharp-shooters.  But  all  of  them,  at  all  times,  were  to 
obey  the  officers  of  the  ship  like  the  other  members  of  her 
crew.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  Perrin  to  help  in  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  'tween-decks  for  the  reception  of  these 
men.  He  screwed  in  hammock-hooks  and  battens,  and 
designed  removable  mess-tables  which  the  carpenter, 
being  one  of  the  politest  of  men,  thought  equal  to  the 
Navy. 

Trade  throve  beyond  their  dreams;  for  the  Broken 
Heart  was  the  first  ship  in  since  the  tobacco  crop.  Her 
general  cargo  of  hemp  and  flax  seed,  tools,  wines, 
ploughs,  linens  and  woollens,  boxes,  cart-wheels,  rope, 
weapons,  books,  and  musical  instruments,  sold  at  good 
rates,  for  silver  and  leaf  tobacco. 

Captain  Margaret  had  planned  to  arrive  at  Jamestown 
early  in  the  season,  so  that  he  might  secure  the  cream 
of  the  tobacco  crop  before  the  summer  fleet  came  in. 
Now  that  he  was  safe  for  a  little  while,  he  set  about 


182  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

his  business.  At  the  end  of  the  fifth  day  he  chartered 
a  couple  of  swift  sloops  from  a  Jamaica  merchant,  and 
loaded  them,  in  one  day,  under  official  supervision,  with 
fifty  tons  of  assorted  goods.  He  kept  some  twenty  sea- 
men at  the  work,  from  turn-to  time  till  sunset,  driving 
them  himself.  His  zeal  startled  all  of  them.  But  Mar- 
garet was  working  with  his  whole  nature  to  save  the 
merchants  who  had  fitted  him  out.  He  felt  that  he 
had  risked  their  money,  by  gratifying  a  foolish  whim; 
now  he  was  to  save  them,  having  seen  his  chance.  The 
bales  and  casks  swung  up  out  of  the  hold  into  the  sloops. 
The  winches  clanked,  the  ropes  creaked,  the  bosun  swore 
at  the  slingmen.  The  slingmen,  dripping  in  the  hot 
darkness,  damned  and  spat,  and  worked  their  hands  full 
of  splinters.  A  fine  dust  rose  up  out  of  the  hatch  to 
quiver  in  the  sunlight.  The  slings  fell  with  a  rattling 
thud  on  to  the  boxes  below;  the  block  creaked  as  the 
fall  was  overhauled ;  a  thirsty  throat  called  "  Hoist." 
The  bosun,  too  hurried  to  pipe,  bent  over  the  coamings 
to  spit,  telling  the  men  on  deck  to  hoist  or  sway  away. 
Up  came  the  boxes  and  casks,  swinging  to  the  yard- 
arm  tackle.  The  boatswain,  bearing  them  over,  swear- 
ing, followed  them  to  the  rail,  as  the  yard-arm  was 
rounded  in.  Then  there  came  the  "  High  enough. 
Walk  back  " ;  and  the  sling  strained  slowly  downwards 
to  the  stevedores,  whose  black  skins  gleamed  in  the  sun. 
By  sunset  the  sloops  were  cast  off  from  the  Broken 
Heart.  Cammock  and  Margaret  swung  themselves  into 
the  stern  of  one  of  them  as  she  sheered  out.  The  sling- 
men, relieved  from  their  hell  below,  stared  at  them 
silently  over  the  rail  with  grime-ringed  eyes.  The  sweat 
had  streaked  the  dirt  on  their  faces,  making  them  look 
haggard.  Like  a  row  of  corpses,  dug  up  after  the  first 
day  of  burial,  those  silent  men  stood.  Margaret,  look- 
ing at  them,  thought  with  horror  that  the  lives  of  some 


THE  TOBACCO  MERCHANT  183 

men  might  be  expressed,  defined,  summed,  in  a  sort  of 
purser's  tally:  so  many  boxes  hoisted  out,  so  many 
creatures  killed,  so  many  pots  drunk,  so  many  books 
read :  with  the  sum  added,  the  life  extinct,  nothing  re- 
maining, nothing  for  God  or  the  Devil;  merely  a  sum 
in  addition  for  the  harping  quirers. 

Sail  was  packed  upon  the  sloops.  All  that  night  they 
drove,  a  red  lamp  burning  astern.  At  dawn,  when  the 
sea  below  the  woods  was  like  steel,  though  tremulous  in 
pale  light,  they  were  standing  in  to  a  jetty  on  the 
Accomac  side.  It  was  dusk  in  the  clearing  where  the 
house  stood;  but  the  stumps  of  felled  trees  stood  up 
black,  a  troop  of  dwarfs;  and  the  cattle  moved  dimly 
among  them,  cropping  grass  with  a  wrench.  Casks 
stood  at  the  edge  of  the  jetty ;  there  was  a  gleam  upon 
their  hoops.  There  was  a  gleam  of  dew  upon  the  forest, 
as  a  little  dawn-wind,  stirring  the  birds,  made  a  patter  of 
dropping.  A  fire  with  a  waving  flame  burned  under  a 
pent-house,  making  a  thick,  sweet  smoke,  which  floated 
everywhere,  smelling  of  burning  gum,  driving  away  the 
mosquitoes.  When  the  flame  leaped  up,  brightly  shak- 
ing, it  showed  a  tilted  cart,  with  a  man  under  a  red 
robe  asleep  against  the  wheel.  Quietly,  before  the  light 
was  come,  they  made  the  sloops  fast  and  stepped  ashore. 
They  stamped  to  kill  the  numbness  in  their  feet ;  then, 
rousing  the  sleeper,  they  helped  him  to  prepare  a  break- 
fast, of  apples,  fish,  and  new  cider,  before  trading  for  his 
tobacco. 

All  that  day  they  plied  along  the  Accomac  coast, 
Cammock  in  the  Peach,  Margaret  in  the  Daisy,  buying 
tobacco  at  every  clearing,  paying  the  planters  in  goods. 
When  the  Peach  sloop  was  full,  Cammock  drove  her 
back,  with  her  boom-end  under,  to  sling  the  tobacco 
into  the  Broken  Heart  at  dawn,  and  to  fill  up  again  with 
trade.  Margaret's  keenness  puzzled  him ;  the  man  was 


184  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

on  fire.  "  I  thought  he  was  one  of  these  dreamy  fel- 
lows," he  said  to  himself.  "  But  he  drives  a  tight  bar- 
gain, and  he  goes  at  it  like  a  tiger." 

He  went  aboard  the  ship,  putting  all  hands  to  the 
work  of  clearing  and  reloading  the  sloop.  Mr.  Cottrill 
met  him  at  the  gangway  with  word  that  two  of  their 
best  men  had  deserted  from  the  trading-booth,  taking 
with  them  about  fifty  pounds'  worth  of  goods;  that 
they  had  gone  off  at  sunset,  just  as  the  sloops  cast  off; 
and  that  one  of  the  men  aboard  had  heard  that  they 
were  going  for  a  run  with  a  gang  of  Indian-snatchers. 
Worse  still.  The  foretopmast  was  sprung  at  the  heel, 
and  the  new  spar  couldn't  be  ready  for  a  week.  Cam- 
mock  had  been  at  a  driving  strain  for  a  couple  of  days ; 
but,  like  most  hard  cases,  he  found  the  second  day  a 
day  of  exaltation,  of  nervous  excitement.  The  news 
pleased  him;  it  occupied  his  mind.  He  bade  his  men 
get  out  trade  from  all  three  hatches  as  fast  as  the  winches 
could  sway  it  out,  while  he  with  a  dozen  men  went  ashore 
in  the  sloop,  still  half  full  of  tobacco. 

As  soon  as  he  got  ashore  he  struck  the  booth,  crammed 
all  the  goods  into  the  sloop,  lock,  stock,  and  barrel,  and 
carried  them  back  aboard.  As  they  were  thrust  into 
the  sloop  he  made  a  rough  inventory. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Cottrill,"  he  said,  "  just  take  this  list  and 
check  it  as  soon  as  you've  got  a  chance.  Then  check 
it  with  the  trade-book,  and  find  out  what's  missing. 
Then  check  that  with  the  clerk's  list.  Rig  up  an  awning 
from  the  break  of  the  poop  to  the  mast  there.  That'll 
be  your  trade  booth.  Call  the  trade  clerk.  Call  Mrs. 
Inigo.  Mr.  Harthop,  you'll  keep  your  trade  booth  here 
in  future.  Mrs.  Inigo,  you'll  have  to  give  up  your 
berth  in  the  sail-locker.  See  to  that,  Mr.  Cottrill. 
Mrs.  Inigo'll  sleep  in  the  steward's  room.  The  stew- 
ard'll  have  to  go  into  the  round-house.  Mr.  Harthop, 


THE  TOBACCO  MERCHANT  185 

you'll  use  the  sail-room,  where  Mrs.  Inigo's  been  sleep- 
ing, as  your  sample-room.  See  that  no  one  goes  up  the 
alleyway  to  the  cabin.  Keep  a  clear  gangway  from  the 
alley  to  the  companion  there.  Mr.  Cottrill,  give  Mr. 
Harthop  three  hands  and  let  him  arrange  his  shop. 
He'd  better  stone  out  the  sail-room  after  breakfast. 
Shift  your  things,  Mrs.  Inigo.  You,  too,  steward. 
Mr.  Cottrill,  pick  out  three  good  hands  to  be  under 
Mr.  Harthop.  Quiet,  steady  men.  Pick  one  or  two 
of  the  boys.  Mr.  Harthop,  what  were  you  doing  to  let 
those  men  away  ?  " 

Mr.  Harthop,  a  little,  bald  jocular  man  with  a  pale 
face  and  long  drooping  moustaches,  which  gave  him  a 
sad,  Chinese  expression,  rolled  slowly  forward,  peering 
under  his  spectacles. 

"  I'd  gone  up  to  the  Governor's  house,  sir,  with  some 
velvets." 

"  Why  didn't  you  send  one  of  the  men  ?  Or  wait 
till  trade  was  over  for  the  day  ?  " 

"  The  Governor's  lady  asked  me  to  come,  Captain 
Cammock." 

"  Women'll  be  the  death  of  this  cruise,"  said  Cam- 
mock  to  himself.  "  Who  was  in  charge  while  you  were 
gone  ?  " 

"  Smale,  the  boy,  Captain  Cammock,  sir.  I  was  only 
gone  twenty  minutes." 

"  There  it  is,"  said  Cammock.  "  Smale,  how  did  this 
happen  ? " 

"  Please,  zur,"  said  Smale,  a  short  young  ploughboy 
from  Gloucestershire,  "  I  were  a-'avin'  my  zupper,  zur. 
*N  I  seed  a  owd  feller  come  up  and  give  'is  fist  like  to 
Andrews.  And  her'd  a-done  it  avore.  Zo  they  talked, 
and  by'n  by,  Captain  Cammock,  zur,  another  feller 
come  like.  Her  said  as  Mr.  Harthop  said  as  I  wus  to 
go  to  Governor's  house,  to  fetch  a  few  fowls  for  th'  'en- 


186  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

coop.  Zo  I  went.  And  her'd  all  gone  avore  I'd  come 
back.  And  her'd  took  the  things." 

Cammock  kept  back  what  he  thought  of  the  Gover- 
nor's wife. 

"  Mr.  Cottrill,"  he  said.  "  You,  Mr.  Ramage,  and 
the  bosun,  will  have  to  stand  trade  watches.  No  visitor 
is  to  talk  to  any  of  the  hands  under  any  pretext  what- 
soever." 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir.  I  thought  I  could  have  trusted 
Andrews." 

"  You  may  go,  Mr.  Harthop.  It  ought  never  to  have 
been  allowed.  Directly  my  back  was  turned."  He  was 
blaming  himself  for  having  been  so  easy  of  access,  and 
so  friendly  with  old  acquaintance.  "  Naturally,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "  the  men  got  notions.  Well,  they'll  get 
no  more."  He  walked  to  the  waist,  where  the  work  was 
going  busily  with  songs.  The  sloop  was  being  loaded 
forward  as  she  discharged  abaft.  His  presence  made 
the  men  zealous.  He  had  never  seen  cargo  worked  so 
well. 

"  Bosun,"  he  called,  "  who's  night  watchman  ?  " 

"  Pearson,  Captain  Cammock,"  said  Harris.  He 
smeared  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  and 
left  a  cask  to  dangle  aloft  over  the  hatch.  He  ran 
towards  Cammock  in  a  shambling  trot. 

"  Tell  Pearson  that  I  want  him.  Mr.  Cottrill,  choose 
a  good  man  to  stand  night  watchman  with  Pearson, 
to  walk  round  the  ship,  harbour-guard,  all  night  long, 
in  opposite  directions.  No  man  whatever  to  come 
aboard  or  to  leave  the  ship  after  sunset.  Pearson,  when 
you  come  on  duty  to-night  you'll  apply  to  Mr.  Ramage 
for  a  pair  of  pistols.  You're  to  shoot  at  any  man  who 
attempts  to  desert.  You're  to  heave  cold  shot  into  any 
boat  which  tries  to  come  alongside.  Tell  the  lamp-man 
he's  to  have  lanterns  lit  abreast  the  main  and  fore  chains. 


THE  TOBACCO  MERCHANT  187 

Call  all  hands  if  any  boat  comes  off  to  us  after  two  bells. 
You're  to  shoot  at  any  boat  which  does  not  answer  to  a 
hail.  You  understand." 

"  Yes,  sir.  Shoot  at  any  man  as  tries  to  desert,  and 
any  boat  as  don't  reply." 

"  H'm,"  said  Cammock  to  himself,  noting  the  faces 
of  the  crew.  "  There'll  be  no  more  deserting  from  this 
hooker." 

"  Carry  on,"  he  said  aloud.  "  Bosun,  call  away  the 
gig.  Let  the  gig's,  crew  dress.  Doctor,  there,  kill  me 
six  fowls.  The  best  we've  got  in  the  fattening  coop. 
Steward  there.  Call  the  steward  you,  boy.  Tell  him  to 
bring  a  dozen  Burgundy.  Now,  Mr.  Cottrill,  a  word 
with  you,  sir.  Mr.  Perrin  and  the  rest,  are  they  all 
well?" 

"  As  far  as  I  know,  they  are,  sir." 

"Mr.  Stukeley?" 

"  Mr.  Stukeley's  like  fat  Jack  of  the  Boneyard,  I 
guess,  sir.  He's  bigger  than  the  admiral." 

"What's  he  been  doing?" 

"  He's  been  wanting  the  gig's  crew  all  day.  I  told 
him  I  needed  the  men  in  the  hold.  He'd  have  to  use 
the  long-boat,  I  said,  when  she  goes  in  for  water." 

"Very  right.     Yes?" 

"  So  he  came  and  called  me  down  before  the  men. 
Said  I  wasn't  a  gentleman.  He  said  as  Captain  Mar- 
garet had  said  he  and  his  lady  was  to  have  the  gig 
whenever  they  wanted  her." 

"  Was  Mrs.  Stukeley  there  ?  " 

"  'No,  sir.  So  I  up  and  said  that  I'd  had  no  orders. 
Then  he  calls  me  down  some  more;  and  goes  and  gets 
Mr.  Perrin  to  come  to  me,  to  say  that  Captain  Margaret 
wished  to  oblige  Mr.  Stukeley  in  all  things." 

"Yes?" 

"  So  1  told  Mr.  Perrin,  pretty  quick,  I  said,  I  was  in 


188  CAPTAIN  MABGARET 

command,  I  said.  It  wasn't  for  him  to  tell  me  my 
duty.  I  told  him  to  tell  his  society  friends  they  could 
do  the  Barney's  Bull  act.  They'd  get  no  gig  out  of  me. 
That's  what  I  said." 

"Yes?" 

"  So  that  Mr.  Stukeley,  he  went  ashore  in  the  long- 
boat, after  calling  me  down  some  more  before  the  men. 
He  got  a  shore-boat  to  go  about  in.  After  that  he 
said  his  boatman  should  have  dinner  aboard  of  us.  I 
stopped  that.  But  Mr.  Stukeley  was  very  rude,  and 
then  the  man  got  rude.  All  hands  working  the  hatch 
there,  hearing  it  all.  Mrs.  Stukeley  beside.  So  that 
was  two  blocks,  I  thought.  I  give  the  boatman  a  thick 
ear  there  and  then.  I  told  him  if  he  didn't  sheer  off 
I'd  drop  a  cold  shot  into  him.  And  I  would  have.  Mr. 
Stukeley  told  me  to  keep  my  hands  off  the  man.  Then 
the  man  wanted  his  money.  My  hat,  we  had  it  all  up 
and  down.  I  thought  that  Stukeley  would  hit  me,  one 
time.  I  wish  'e  'ad  done.  I'd  a  laid  him  out." 

"  And  Mr.  Ferrin  ?     How  did  it  end  ?  " 

"  I  saw  some  of  the  hands  knocked  off  to  listen,  so  I 
give  them  a  few.  And  he  stood  there  telling  them  not  to 
take  no  blows.  Telling  'em  to  down  me.  And  then  the 
long-boat  come  alongside  with  water.  Mr.  Eamage  was 
in  her,  of  course.  He  hears  the  row,  and  he  come  over 
the  side  just  as  quick  as  cut.  He  just  took  that  Stukeley 
by  the  arm,  and  walked  him  into  the  alleyway.  '  Don't 
you  incite  no  sailors,  sir,'  he  says.  '  No  more  of  that, 
sir.  I  respects  your  feelings,  sir,'  he  says,  'but  for 
Gord's  and  your  lady's  sake,'  he  says,  '  you  quit.  You 
don't  know  what  you're  doin'.'  That  was  the  end  for 
that  time.  I  suppose  we'll  'ave  another  dollop  of  it 
to-day." 

"  Put  him  in  irons  at  once,  publicly,  if  he  gives  you 
any  more  trouble.  And  he's  not  to  talk  to  any  man. 


THE  TOBACCO  MERCHANT  189 

That's  another  thing.  Iron  him  directly  he  gives  a  back 
answer.  Tell  Mr.  Kamage,  too.  Now  bring  those 
fowls  along  doctor.  I'm  off  to  the  man-of-war  sloop, 
about  them  Indian-snatchers." 

He  pulled  aboard  the  man-of-war  sloop,  with  his 
present  of  wine  and  poultry.  As  he  sat  in  his  gig  call- 
ing to  the  men  to  pull  the  stroke  out,  he  wrote  descrip- 
tions of  the  missing  seamen. 

When  he  returned  to  the  Broken  Heart,  the  sloop  was 
nearly  full  of  trade.  It  was  just  half-past  seven.  He 
went  to  his  cabin  to  wash,  walking  quickly  and  quietly, 
like  a  forest  Indian.  There  was  some  slight  noise  to  his 
left  as  he  entered  the  alleyway.  He  turned  sharply, 
to  look  into  the  sail-room,  to  see  if  it  were  ready  for 
the  samples.  The  door  shut  in  his  face  with  a  bang. 
He  could  not  swear  to  it  —  the  door  shut  in  a  fraction  of 
a  second  —  yet  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  seen  Stuke- 
ley  with  Mrs.  Inigo,  for  one  bright  flash  of  time.  He 
would  not  open  to  make  sure;  for  it  was  a  woman's 
cabin ;  he  might  have  been  mistaken ;  but  he  turned  in 
his  tracks  and  blew  his  whistle.  A  man  ran  to 
him. 

"  Get  some  dry  stone,  and  stone  this  door  clean,"  he 
said,  showing  Mrs.  Inigo's  door.  "  Stone  the  outside, 
and  keep  at  it  till  breakfast."  That  would  keep  Stuke- 
ley  within  (if  he  were  within)  until  breakfast,  at  any 
rate.  He  flung  his  clothes  from  him  and  swilled  him- 
self with  water ;  then  dressed  rapidly  and  went  to  Per- 
rin's  cabin.  "  Mr.  Perrin,"  he  said,  bursting  in  after 
knocking  once,  "  how  are  you,  Mr.  Perrin  ?  I  want  you 
to  keep  your  eye  ,on  Mrs.  Inigo's  door.  See  who  comes 
out  of  it.  Is  Mrs.  Stukeley  well  ?  " 

"  Very  well.     How  are  you  and  the  captain  ?  " 
"  The  captain'll  be  back  later  in  the  day.     I'm  just 
off  again." 


190  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  We'd  a  lot  of  trouble  yesterday.  I'll  be  glad  when 
you're  back  for  good." 

"  Cheer  up,  sir,"  said  Cammock.  "  Remember. 
Mrs.  Inigo's  door  till  one  bell.  If  Mrs.  Inigo  comes 
out,  open  it  and  search  the  cabin."  He  went  on  deck 
again,  where  the  steward  met  him  with  a  tray.  He  sat 
down  on  a  coaming  and  made  a  hurried  breakfast,  while 
the  sloop's  crew  hoisted  sail.  When  he  had  finished  his 
meal,  he  glanced  into  the  alleyway,  where  the  man  was 
rubbing  holystone  across  the  door.  "  Anybody  in 
there  ?  "  he  said. 

"  I  hear  some  one  shifting  around,  sir,"  said  the  man. 
"  The  woman's  getting  her  gear,  sir." 

"  Right,"  said  Cammock.  "  I  wish  I  could  stay  to 
see  the  end,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  But  I  must  be  off." 
In  a  few  minutes  he  was  bound  again  for  Accomac,  un- 
der a  huge  square  cutter's  foresail,  which  made  the  sloop 
leap  like  a  flying-fish. 

Very  late  one  night,  having  just  arrived  aboard  after 
a  week  of  labour,  Captain  Margaret  sat  in  his  cabin 
comparing  tally-books  with  Captain  Cammock;  but 
quietly,  lest  they  should  wake  Perrin.  He  was  very 
tired;  for  the  hurry  from  one  clearing  to  another,  and 
the  long  rides  into  the  wilderness  to  planters  who  lived 
far  away,  had  been  a  strain.  He  had  endured  them 
only  in  the  fire  of  his  excitement.  He  had  enjoyed 
his  week  of  bargaining;  the  zest  of  the  struggle  had 
been  like  wine  to  him.  On  the  lonely  clearings,  or 
drinking  with  strangers  in  woodmen's  shacks,  he  had 
forgotten  his  love,  forgotten  the  torment  of  the  voyage, 
Olivia's  child,  the  settlement  on  Darien.  All  had  been 
forgotten.  Now  that  the  struggle  was  over,  he  felt 
the  exhaustion;  but  nodding  as  he  was,  over  his  tally- 
book,  his  whirling  brain  praised  him  with  that  excited 
inner  voice  which  talks  to  the  overwrought.  "  You've 


THE  TOBACCO  MERCHANT  191 

got  the  pick  of  the  crop,  the  pick  of  the  crop,  the  cream 
of  the  year's  leaf,"  the  voice  kept  telling  him.  He  had 
bought  seven  hundred  tons  of  the  best  tobacco  in  the 
colony ;  the  little  that  remained  to  be  sold  was  the  poor, 
crude  leaf  from  the  young  plants  and  the  poorly  cured, 
poorly  flavoured  leaf  from  the  distant  walks  in  the  forest. 

"  We've  got  the  whole  trade,  sir,"  said  Cammock. 
"  You  needn't  fear  for  your  owners." 

"  IsTo,"  said  Margaret.  "  Now  to  get  a  bottom  to 
carry  it  home.  Of  course,  in  a  week  we  ought  to  have 
the  summer  fleet  here." 

"  They'll  not  find  much,"  said  Cammock.  "  We've 
got  it  all.  But  supposing  a  letter  comes  with  the  fleet. 
We  shall  have  to  sail  that  night  probably,  shan't  we? 
Supposing  we've  to  cut  and  run,  leaving  it  all  in  the 
warehouse  ? " 

"  I've  thought  of  that,"  said  Margaret,  "  I  thought  of 
that,  too.  Heigho,  captain,  I'm  tired.  This  week  has 
been  an  experience.  I  shall  leave  Mr.  Harthop  in 
charge  ashore,  with  powers  to  deal.  He's  shrewd. 
He's  got  a  funny  way  of  getting  at  the  point  with  that 
queer  humour  as  a  cloak.  And  I've  got  Howard,  Cam- 
mock.  Howard's  our  agent." 

"  You've  got  the  Governor,  sir  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes.  That  was  my  first  move.  I  knew  old 
Howard  wanted  specie;  so  I  went  to  see  him  and  told 
him  my  plans.  He  was  expensive,  though.  He  knew 
his  worth  to  a  penny." 

"  What  it  is  to  be  a  gentleman.  If  I'd  gone,  he'd 
have  kicked  me  out.  Well.  Birth  tells,  they  say." 

Perrin  sat  up  in  his  bunk,  and  looked  at  them  through 
the  curtains. 

"A  servile,  insolent,  bribing,  tipping  race,  the  Eng- 
lish," he  said.  "  An  Englishman  will  never  do  any- 
thing for  any  one  without  expecting  something." 


"  Oh,  you're  awake,  are  you  ?  At  it  again,  too,"  said 
Cain  mock.  "  How  about  that  door,  sir  ?  " 

"  Well,  Edward,  how  are  you  ?     What  door  is  this  ?  " 

"  Oh.  Mrs.  Inigo's  door,"  said  Perrin.  "  Oh  yes. 
Yes.  Mrs.  Inigo  came  out  at  eight  bells,  and  then  I 
tried  to  get  in.  But  it  was  locked  on  the  inside.  So  I 
called  Mr.  Harthop's  three  men,  and  the  man  who  was 
scrubbing  it." 

"  Good.     Good,"  said  Cammock. 

"  And  I  told  them  '  the  door  was  jammed.'  So  they'd 
a  jemmy  there,  for  opening  cases  with,  and  we  burst 
the  door  open.  We  found  Stukeley  inside." 

"  Stukeley  ?  "  said  Margaret.  "  I  half  suspected 
that." 

"  He  was  on  his  knees  on  the  deck,  sponging  that 
blue  silk  dress  Olivia  wears." 

"  Ha,"  said  Captain  Cammock.  "  I  should  never 
have  thought  of  that." 

"  Shrewd  these  Cornish  women  are." 

"  He  was  rather  red  in  the  face,  but  he  asked  us  what 
was  the  matter.  Then  he  asked  me  to  give  him  a  hand, 
as  he'd  got  to  get  the  dress  ready  for  Olivia,  he  said. 
She'd  spilt  some  chocolate  down  it.  It  was " 

"  Was  he  flustered  ?     Hectoring  ?  " 

"  Afterwards.  Not  then.  He  kept  saying  that 
Olivia  wished  to  wear  the  dress  at  breakfast." 

"Did  she?" 

"Yes.  Oh  yes.  I  don't  know,  Charles.  There 
might  have  been  nothing  wrong." 

"  I  thought  I  saw  something,"  said  Cammock. 

"  Well,"  said  Margaret.  "  I  suppose  we'll  have  to 
discharge  Mrs.  Inigo,  and  pay  her  passage  home.  Cap- 
tain Cammock,  what  do  you  think  of  Stukeley  ? " 

"  I'm  like  the  parrot,"  said  Cammock,  "  I  think  a 
lot  more'n  I'll  say.  Now  turn  in,  all  hands.  A  long 


THE  TOBACCO  MEKCHANT  193 

lie,  and  pie  for  dinner.  Captain  Margaret,  if  you  don't 
turn  in,  you'll  find  you  won't  sleep.  On.  Has  Mr. 
Stukeley  been  in  irons  ?  " 

"  He's  been  threatened  with  them.  He's  been  very 
quiet  though  lately.  That  Inigo  time  gave  him  a  scare, 
I  think." 

"  Well.     Good  night,  gentlemen." 

"  Good  night." 

As  Captain  Margaret  drew  his  bunk-curtains  and 
settled  himself  to  sleep,  the  voices  in  his  brain  took 
bodies  to  them,  fiery  bodies,  which  leaned  and  called  to 
him.  "  You've  got  the  pick  of  the  crop,  the  pick  of 
the  crop,  the  pick  of  the  crop,"  they  called.  "  Lucky 
devil.  Lucky  devil.  Oh,  you  lucky  devil." 


VIII 


"Yet  still  he  stands  prefract  and  insolent." 

Charles,  Duke  of  Byron. 

AFTER  breakfast  the  next  morning  the  two  Stuke- 
leys  sat  in  their  stateroom  talking.  They  had 
had  a  week  of  comparative  isolation,  of  compara- 
tive privacy,  very  sweet  to  Olivia,  who  had  learned, 
during  the  voyage,  to  regret  the  days  at  Salcombe,  when 
one  had  but  to  close  a  door,  to  shut  the  world  of  love 
from  that  other  world,  full  of  thorns  and  thistles,  where 
ordinary  mortals  walked,  not  having  the  key  of  the 
burning  imagination.  With  Margaret  and  Cammock 
away,  and  Perrin  seldom  present  at  meals,  owing  to  his 
fear  of  the  badgering  of  Stukeley,  the  cabin  of  the 
Broken  Heart  had  come  to  be  something  of  a  home  to 
her.  She  could  feel  again  that  nothing  else  really 
existed,  that  no  one  else  really  lived,  that  all  the  world, 
all  the  meaning  and  glory  and  life  of  the  world,  centred 
in  the  two  burning  mouths,  in  the  two  hearts  which 
divined  each  other,  apprehending  all  things  in  them- 
selves. During  that  week  of  privacy  she  had  even 
learned  to  think  tenderly  again  of  the  three  men  who  had 
shared  the  cabin  with  her.  She  found  that  she  no 
longer  resented  Cammock's  want  of  breeding ;  his  want 
of  culture ;  his  past  as  explained  by  Tom ;  his  social 
position  as  compared  with  her  aunt  Pile's  coachman. 
During  the  voyage  she  had  grown  to  dislike  Margaret 
and  Perrin,  much  as  one  dislikes  the  guests  who  have 

194 


IN  PORT  195 

overstayed  their  welcome.  She  had  been  too  much  in 
the  rapture  of  love  to  see  things  clearly,  to  judge  char- 
acter clearly;  she  had  taken  her  judgments  ready-made 
from  Tom,  who  disliked  the  two  men.  She  had  liked 
them  both  as  old  friends;  had  liked  them  much,  in  the 
old  days,  before  she  knew  life.  But,  under  the  strain 
of  the  voyage,  ever  prompted  by  Stukeley's  bitterness, 
while  looking  on  them  as  her  friends,  she  had  come  to 
resent  their  continual  presence,  to  be  cross  at  their  con- 
versation, which  (as  she  felt  instinctively)  was  re- 
strained by  their  dislike  of  Tom,  through  their  want 
of  imaginative  sympathy  with  his  point  of  view.  ISTow 
that  they  were  no  longer  ever  present,  like  spices  added 
to  each  dish  till  every  dish  disgusts,  she  thought  of  them 
both  with  pity ;  feeling  that  they  were  growing  old  in 
their  ways,  narrowed  in  their  sympathies,  never  knowing 
the  meaning  of  life,  which  is  love.  Thus  thought  she, 
in  the  confidence  of  exulting  health,  in  the  rapture  of 
being  possessed,  with  the  merciless  pity  of  a  newly  mar- 
ried woman.  This  that  she  had  waited  for,  this  love 
which  crowned  and  made  her,  it  cleared  the  eyes,  she 
thought,  it  exalted,  it  ennobled,  it  glorified.  She  would 
that  those  two  pathetic  figures,  Margaret  so  serious  and 
proud,  with  his  clumsy  walk,  and  halting,  almost  af- 
fected picked  precision  of  phrase,  and  Perrin,  the  for- 
lorn parasite  who  looked  as  though  he  had  been  frozen, 
were  married;  she  would  so  gladly  see  them  happy, 
tasting  something  of  the  joy  which  made  earth  heaven 
to  her.  Margaret  would  be  a  beautiful  lover,  very 
thoughtful  and  tender,  but  cold;  he  was  cold-hearted, 
she  thought,  and  rather  frightening.  Perrin  would  be 
attracted  by  some  little  merry  woman  who  would  laugh 
at  him  and  twist  him  round  her  finger.  Perrin,  she 
confessed  to  Tom,  attracted  her  more  than  the  other, 
because  he  looked  so  wretched.  Being  so  happy  her- 


196  CAPTAIN  MARGAKET 

self,  she  wished  others  to  be  happy.  Her  education, 
like  most  women's  education,  had  been  aimed  to  make 
her  fear  the  world,  to  make  her  shrink  from  those  char- 
acters who  judged  the  world  and  sought  to  direct  it. 
Her  own  world,  beautiful  as  it  was,  existed  only  by  the 
exclusion  of  such  characters;  her  nature  could  not 
accept  Margaret  wholly;  she  could  only  respect  and 
vaguely  fear  him,  as  one  respects  and  fears  all  things 
which  one  is  not  wise  enough  to  understand.  Perrin 
looked  wretched,  and  having  a  tenderness  for  wretched 
folk,  she  thought  that  she  understood  him.  All  the 
time,  unknown  to  her,  the  three  men  summed  her  up 
with  pity  and  reverence  and  tender  devotion;  but 
mostly  with  pity,  and  with  a  mournful,  tender  curiosity. 
It  was  perhaps  partly  that  curiosity  which  had  made 
their  absence,  pleasant  to  her.  Their  absence  had  been 
a  relief  to  her,  it  had  also  relieved  her  husband.  And 
since  their  arrival  at  Virginia  her  husband  had  made  her 
anxious;  he  had  behaved  very  queerly  at  times,  ever 
since  the  first  day.  She  felt  that  he  was  keeping  some- 
thing from  her,  perhaps  some  ailment  which  tortured 
him  and  made  him  irritable.  She  had  been  very  thank- 
ful to  have  her  dear  love  so  much  to  herself  during  an 
entire  week. 

But  at  breakfast  that  morning  the  presence  of  the 
three  men  (and  the  prospect  of  their  future  presence) 
had  shown  her  how  much  she  longed  for  the  quiet 
retirement  of  a  home,  where  life  could  be  culled,  chosen, 
made  up  as  one  makes  a  nosegay,  by  beautiful  friends, 
art,  music,  all  the  essences  of  life,  all  doubly  precious 
to  her  now  that  life  had  become  so  precious. 

"  Tom,"  she  said,  "  Tom,  dear,  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about  our  life  here.  I  don't  think  it  can  go  on,  dear." 

"  Why,  little  Olive,  what's  up  ?  What  ruffles  your 
serenity  ? " 


IN  PORT  197 

"  Tom,  dear,  I  cannot  bear  this  ship  life.  And  those 
three  men.  At  every  meal  I  feel  that  one  of  them  is 
watching  me.  Oh,  and  no  woman  to  talk  to.  I  think 
of  our  lovely  times  at  Salcombe,  Tom.  We  could  shut 
the  door ;  and  it  would  be  just  our  two  selves." 

"  Jolly  times  at  Salcombe,  hadn't  we  ?  But  what's 
the  matter,  eh  ? " 

"  This  ship  life,  Tom.  It's  that.  The  men  are  so 
rude,  and  so  rude  to  you,  Tom.  I  can't  go  on  with  it. 
I  want  to  go  back  to  England." 

"  But  I've  promised  to  go  to  Darien,  Olive." 

"  I  know,  dear.  I  know.  Don't  think  me  very  fool- 
ish, Tom.  But  I  don't  think  I'm  strong  enough.  Tom, 
darling,  could  not  we  leave  this  life  ?  Think  how  rude 
Mr.  Cottrill  was  to  you  only  the  other  day.  I  do  so 
long  for  our  old  happy  life  together.  Away  from  the 
sea." 

"  Look  here,  Livy.  I  understand.  You're  lonely. 
Suppose  we  go  and  stay  ashore  for  a  while.  You  would 
meet  ladies  ashore.  You've  met  them  already." 

"  Tom,  I  can't  meet  those  ladies.     They're  not  nice." 

"  What's  wrong  with  them  ?  What's  wrong  with  Mrs. 
Montague  ? " 

"  I  feel  that  she  isn't  a  nice  woman.  That  she 

isn't You  know  I  went  to  see  her  the  day  before 

yesterday.  She  was  hung  about  with  silver  just  like 
a  savage,  and  all  the  young  officers  were  there,  playing 
cards.  And  Captain  Montague  had  gone  to  Charles- 
town,  and  she  was  alone  there,  with  all  those  men.  So 
I  sat  down  for  a  moment  to  rest  after  the  walk  and  then 
came  away.  That  was  no  place  for  me." 

"  Well,  we  could  stop  with  the  Governor.  Maggy 
knows  him.  What's  wrong  with  old  Mrs.  Prinsep  ?  " 

"  I  don't  like  her,  Tom.  She's  a  bitter  woman.  Oh, 
Tom,  let's  go  home." 


198  CAPTAIN  MAEGAKET 

"  But  I've  promised,  Livy." 

"  Yes,  dear.  I  know.  But  we  can't  always  keep  our 
promises.  We  can't  go  to  Darien.  We  can't." 

"  But  what  else  can  we  do  ?  We  must,  my  dear.  I 
can't  pay  our  passage  home.  I  came  away  in  such  a 
rush.  I've  not  got  five  pounds  with  me." 

"  Oh,  Tom,  Tom.  But  that  doesn't  matter,  dear. 
We  could  borrow.  Charles  or  Edward  would  lend  to 
us." 

"  No,  thanks,  Livy.  There  are  some  things  I  draw 
the  line  at.  I  can't  take  a  man's  hospitality  and  then 
borrow  money  from  him." 

"  But I  know  them  better  than  you  do,  Tom. 

I  could  ask  them." 

"  Do  you  suppose,  Livy,  that  I  could  let  you  borrow 
money  from  any  man  ?  " 

"  Then  we  could  ask  for  a  passage  home  in  the  convoy 
to  the  summer  fleet.  They  would  take  us." 

Stukeley  smiled  uneasily,  knowing  only  too  well  how 
likely  he  was  to  get  a  passage  home  with  that  convoy 
in  any  case. 

"  Olive,"  he  said,  "  do  you  remember  a  tale  Captain 
Cammock  told  us  about  a  little  ruined  city  full  of 
gold?" 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 

"  D'you  know,  Olive,  I've  been  half  planning  with 
Cammock  to  go  to  look  for  that  ruined  city.  You  see, 
Livy,  we  shall  only  be  here  probably  till  the  summer 
fleet  arrives.  Ten  days,  or  so.  Do  you  think  you  could 
stand  it  for  another  month  or  two  ?  If  we  found  that 
city,  I  could  buy  my  little  Olive  that  summer  cottage 
we  set  our  hearts  on." 

"  Oh,  take  me  home,  Tom.  Never  mind  the  cottage. 
And  I  couldn't  have  you.  going  into  the  forest.  I 
couldn't  be  alone  in  the  ship." 


IN  PORT  199 

"  But  then,  Olive.  Since  I  married  my  little  Olive 
here,  I've  been  wanting  to  do  something  for  others. 
Living  as  a  bachelor,  one  gets  selfish.  I  want  very 
much  to  help  those  Indians,  Olive.  To  do  something  in 
return  for  you,  dear." 

"  I  know,  dear.  It's  so  like  you.  It's  noble  of  you. 
But  you  could  do  something  for  the  people  at  home: 
for  the  poor.  You  could  teach  them.  We  could  teach 
them  together.  But  oh,  don't  let's  go  to  Darien,  Tom. 
We  shall  be  separated.  Tom,  I  couldn't  bear  to  be 
alone  in  the  ship.  And  there  may  be  fighting." 

"  Come,  come,  Livy,"  said  Stukeley.  He  was  nettled 
at  what  he  judged  to  be  her  damned  female  pigheaded- 
ness,  yet  anxious  to  make  his  indignation  appear  moral. 
That  is  the  common  custom  of  the  wicked,  to  the  world's 
misfortune.  "  Come,  come,"  he  said,  "  you  mustn't 
talk  in  that  way.  We're  going  to  liberate  the  Indians. 
Eh?  To  show  them  what  British  Freedom  means. 
Eh?  We  mustn't  think  of  ourselves,  and  our  little 
aches  and  pains.  We  must  think  of  the  world."  He 
himself  was  ever  ready  to  think  of  the  world,  or  the 
flesh,  or  the  devil,  or  all  three.  "  We  must  think  of 
the  world,  Livy.  And  if  we  should  succeed.  I  think 
you  would  be  proud  of  me,  Livy." 

"  I  should  be,  Tom,  dear.  Very,  very  proud.  But 
oh,  Tom,  do  let  us  go  home.  We  should  be  so  happy 
there  again.  Here,  we  can't  get  away  from  strangers. 
I  can't  live  among  these  people.  They're  dreadful. 
And  Darien,  Tom.  It's  a  lawless  place,  full  of  the 
most  terrible  men." 

"  Oh,  they're  all  right,"  he  answered.  "  They're  all 
right.  And  I  shall  be  with  you,  my  dear  child.  We 
must  go  to  Darien,  Livy.  My  honour's  pledged.  I 
can't  draw  back  in  honour.  They  would  call  me  a 
coward.  They'd  say  I  was  afraid.  Besides,  I  can't 


200  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

very  well  pay  our  way  home.  And  I  can't  borrow. 
You  do  realize  my  position,  Livy?  We  must  go  on." 

"  Oh,  Tom/'  said  Olivia,  crying  now,  in  spite  of  brave 
efforts.  "  I  didn't  think  —  I  thought  you'd  take  me 
when  I  begged  you.  We  might  be  home  in  three  weeks. 
Oh,  Tom,  do."  She  clung  to  him,  looking  up  at  him, 
smiling  appeal  in  spite  of  tears.  Stukeley  bit  his  lips 
from  annoyance,  longing  to  box  her  ears,  to  give  her,  as 
he  phrased  it,  something  to  cry  for.  She  thought  that  he 
was  on  the  rack  between  his  pledged  honour  and  his 
love  for  her. 

"  No,  Livy,"  he  said,  parodying  Captain  Margaret's 
manner  towards  an  inferior.  "  No,  Livy,  dear.  Don't 
make  it  hard  for  me.  We  must  never  draw  back  from 
a  noble  cause,  dear."  He  thought  that  this  would  bring 
more  tears,  and  force  him  to  be  brutal;  he  was  not 
going  to  stand  there  while  she  snivelled  on  hi6  shoulder. 
"  A  snivelling  woman,"  he  always  maintained,  "  is  not  a 
thing  to  be  encouraged."  But  to  his  surprise  his  answer 
checked  her  tears ;  she  had  never  loved  him  more  than 
when  he  placed  his  honour  even  above  his  love  for  her. 

"  There,  Tom,"  she  said.  "  Forgive  me.  I  won't 
cry  any  more,  dear.  My  nerves  are  upset.  I  won't 
ask  again,  Tom.  Of  course,  we'll  go  to  Darien.  But  I 
wasn't  thoughtless  of  your  honour,  Tom.  You  don't 
think  that?  I  wasn't.  I  was  only  fidgety  and  fright- 
ened. Women  are  so  silly.  You  don't  know  how 
silly." 

"There,  there,"  he  said.  "There,  there.  What 
pretty  ears  you've  got,  Livy.  Why  in  the  world  d'you 
wear  earrings  with  ears  like  yours  ?  " 

"  They're  only  clip  earrings,  you  old  goose." 

"  I  shall  bite  them." 

"  No,  Tom.  Not  my  ears  now.  My  dear  Tom.  Do 
forgive  me.  You  know  I  love  you." 


IN  PORT  201 

"  You've  got  the  reddest  lips  I  ever  saw  in  a  woman, 
Livy." 

"  Oh.     Do  you  notice  women's  lips  ?  " 

"  I  notice  yours.  Almost  the  first  thing  I  noticed  of 
you  was  how  red  your  lips  were.  What  do  you  put  on 
them?" 

"  Nothing.     You  put  something  on  them  sometimes."' 

"What?     A  gag?" 

"  No.  Your  old  silly  mouth  that  asks  so  many  ques- 
tions." 

"  I'll  get  you  some  hot  water  for  your  eyes.  You 
must  bathe  them." 

"  How  good  and  tender  you  are  to  me,  Tom." 

As  he  walked  to  get  a  jugful  of  hot  water  he  muttered 
to  himself  about  her.  "  Bread  and  butter,"  he  re- 
peated. "  Bread  and  butter.  A  life  of  bread  and  but- 
ter. Forty  years  of  it,  good  luck.  Forty  years  of  it 
to  come.  Batter  pudding."  He  met  with  Cammock  in 
the  alleyway ;  it  occurred  to  him  to  be  civil.  "  Captain 
Cammock,"  he  said,  "  will  you  join  me  in  my  smoking- 
room  after  dinner  to-day  ?  I've  some  Verinas  tobacco. 
I'd  like  your  opinion  of  it." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Cammock,  wondering  what 
had  caused  such  sudden  friendliness.  "  But  which  do 
you  call  your  smoking-room  ?  " 

"  That  little  tiny  cabin  just  forward  of  the  bath- 
room. It's  only  big  enough  for  a  few  chairs  and  a 
bookshelf." 

"  Oh,  the  after-hospital,"  said  Cammock.  "  I'll  be 
very  pleased,  sir.  But  where  did  you  speak  with 
Verinas  tobacco,  Mr.  Stukeley  ?  " 

"  I  spoke  with  it  ashore,"  said  Stukeley,  "  of  a  Mr. 
Davis,  whom  I  think  you  know." 

"Ah,"  said  Cammock.  "Indeed?  Well.  After 
dinner,  sir." 


202  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

Later  in  the  morning,  Stukeley  tried  his  tobacco  alone, 
on  the  cabin  cushions,  looking  through  the  windows  at 
the  town.  He  added  up  the  chances  for  and  against 
himself,  smiling  with  satisfaction  at  the  kindly  aspect  of 
the  planets.  His  chief  fear  had  been  an  arrest  on  ar- 
rival. That  fear  had  been  proved  to  be  groundless. 
Then  there  was  the  chance  of  arrest  after  the  arrival  of 
the  summer  fleet  with  the  mails.  That  chance,  though 
possibly  dangerous,  was  not  to  be  dreaded.  Old  How- 
ard, the  Governor,  was  a  friend  of  Maggy's,  and  Maggy 
had  bribed  him  to  obtain  illegal  rights  of  trade.  He 
could  put  the  Governor  into  some  trouble,  should  he 
press  for  an  arrest  on  the  arrival  of  orders  from  the 
Board.  But  he  wasn't  likely  to  press  for  an  arrest.  He 
would  give  a  quiet  hint  for  them  to  go.  But  even  if  the 
arrest  were  ordered,  he  had  allies  in  the  Broken  Heart. 
He  knew  that  Margaret  and  the  others  would  do  any- 
thing to  shield  and  spare  Olivia.  They  thought  that 
she  was  going  to  have  a  child.  Good  Lord,  they  were  a 
comical  trio.  They  thought  that  an  arrest  would  prob- 
ably kill  her.  And  Maggy,  that  stiff,  shambling,  stuck- 
up,  conceited  prig,  Maggy  who  had  been  going  to  fight  a 
duel  with  him.  Swords  and  pistols,  damme;  swords 
and  pistols,  damme.  Well.  What  had  it  all  come  to  ? 
Why,  Maggy  would  stop  him  in  the  alleyway,  taking 
him  gently  by  the  arm,  as  one  takes  the  doctor  by  the 
arm,  when  he  comes  out  of  the  sick-room.  "  How  is 
Olivia,  Stukeley  ?  How  is  she  this  morning  ?  "  Bated 
breath,  good  Lord.  Best  doctor's  manner.  And  Per- 
rin  running  ashore  for  fruit  and  fresh  fish  and  eggs. 
And  Cammock.  Well,  Cammock  was  a  bit  of  a  dark 
horse;  so  he  would  make  much  of  Cammock  for  some 
days.  Besides,  that  little  ruined  city,  full  of  gold, 
might  turn  out  to  be  worth  looking  for.  As  for  Olivia, 
she  would  have  to  come  to  Darien,  whether  she  cried  or 


IN  PORT  203 

not.  He  rather  liked  living  at  free  quarters,  as  cock  of 
the  walk.  He  wasn't  going  to  go  ashore  in  Virginia  to 
settle  among  the  colonists.  Besides,  in  Darien,  there 
would  be  a  bit  of  sport,  by  all  accounts.  There  would 
be  shooting;  perhaps  a  little  shooting  at  Spaniards; 
plunder  to  be  made;  good  living  generally.  The  only 
bitter  sediment  in  this  cup  of  pleasure  was  Mrs.  Inigo. 
He  had  been  very  nearly  caught  with  Mrs.  Inigo.  He 
knew  that  he  had  raised  suspicions,  that  he  would  have 
to  walk  warily  for  some  little  time.  He  wished  that 
he  was  married  to  Mrs.  Inigo.  All  this  talk  of  love, 
such  talk  as  Olivia  loved,  this  talk  of  trust  and  sacra- 
ment and  the  rest  of  it.  He  was  sick  of  it.  He  thought 
that  men  were  naturally  polygamous.  A  few  fools  and 
perverts.  What  right  had  they  to  dictate  to  him  ?  Mrs. 
Inigo  would  be  just  the  sort  of  wife  for  him.  She  would 
understand.  And  she  wouldn't  make  him  sick  with 
talk  about  Beauty.  She  hadn't  mixed  with  the  gang 
of  twisters  Olivia  had  known.  Maggy  was  the  boy 
for  Beauty.  There  was  where  Olivia  learned  her  beauty 
talk.  Twisters.  That  was  all  that  Maggy's  gang  were. 
He  would  like  to  twist  their  necks.  As  for  the  colonials, 
the  Virginian  women  didn't  please  him.  The  garrison 
ladies  were  like  all  the  garrison  ladies  known  to  him, 
silly  little  empty  fools,  without  enough  imagination  to 
be  vicious.  They  could  just  chatter,  play  cards,  kiss 
their  beastly  lap-dogs,  and  wear  their  English  clothes 
to  church,  so  as  to  show  off  before  the  colonials.  The 
colonial  girls  were  not  like  women  at  all.  They  were 
like  young  horses,  like  young  men.  They  would  dance 
and  romp,  like  colts  in  a  hay-lot.  But  their  idea  of  an 
evening's  amusement  was  to  roll  a  man  in  a  corn-crib, 
and  smother  him  with  pillows  or  flour.  The  colonial 
men  bored  him;  he  had  always  thought  ill  of  farmers. 
Their  talk  was  all  of  the  tobacco  crop,  the  duty,  the 


204  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

burning  of  half  the  leaf,  and  the  destruction  of  those 
plantations  which  were  too  productive.  They  had  no 
wines.  Their  only  drinks  were  rum  and  new  cider. 
They  did  not  play  cards.  Their  chief  amusement 
seemed  to  be  riding  to  prayer-meetings.  They  would 
often  ride  forty  miles  to  a  prayer-meeting  in  the  woods. 
He  rather  liked  them  for  that.  He  would  have  ridden 
a  hundred  miles  to  avoid  a  Church  service  there,  under 
a  Virginian  parson.  "  They  pay  their  parsons  in  to- 
bacco," he  said  to  himself.  "  They  get  the  vary  sweep- 
ings of  the  Church.  What  souls  they  must  have,  when 
you  can  save  five  thousand  of  them  for  forty  pounds 
a  year." 

Thus  his  thoughts  ran  inside  his  skull,  under  his  curly 
black  hair,  behind  that  red  face  so  long  the  adoration 
of  shop-girls.  But  after  dinner,  in  the  little  room 
known  as  the  after-hospital,  when,  stretched  at  ease  in 
the  bunk,  he  could  see  Cammock  sitting  upright  in  the 
chair,  through  the  wavering  tobacco-smoke,  his  thoughts 
ran  upon  other  matters.  He  thought  of  the  coming 
cruise  to  Darien. 

"  Good  tobacco,  captain  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  But  it's  not  Verinas.  It's  too  strong. 
Too  red.  This  is  some  of  that  Mexican  tobacco.  It 
leaves  that  tang,  like  a  metal.  That's  how  you  can  tell, 
sir.  Just  puff  out,  sir,  and  roll  your  tongue  round. 
You  taste  what  I  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes.  But  I  bought  it  as  Verinas.  I  paid  four 
shillings  the  Spanish  pound." 

"  That  gang  of  Davis's  saw  you  coming,  sir." 

"  Really  ?  Well.  It's  my  turn  to  laugh  next.  You 
tell  them  that,  captain." 

"  They're  no  friends  of  mine,  sir,"  said  Cammock 
simply. 


IN  PORT  205 

"  Aren't  they  ?  I  thought  they  were  particular 
friends  of  yours.  You  sailed  with  them  ?  " 

"  I've  sailed  with  a  good  many  as  I'm  no  friends 
with." 

"  Really." 

"  I  say  nothing  against  them,"  said  Cammock. 
"  They're  very  good  seamen.  Doing  good  as  planters, 
too,  sir.  They've  quite  a  lot  of  ground  burnt  off.  I 
dare  say  you've  seen  it." 

"  Yes.  But  I  thought  from  what  they  said  that  they 
were  particular  friends  of  yours.  Eh  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  sir.     When  did  you  see  them  ?  " 

"  I  saw  them  yesterday,  Captain  Cammock." 

"  Indeed,  sir." 

"  They  said  that  you  and  Captain  Margaret  had  just 
arranged  to  take  about  thirty  of  them,  as  a  sort  of  com- 
pany of  soldiers.  To  have  them  aboard  here.  Eh? 
Men  of  war.  Eh  ?  Pretty  nearly  the  whole  village  of 
them." 

"  Indeed,  sir." 

"  You  don't  like  your  little  secrets  to  be  known." 

"  Ah  ?  Oh.  I  forgot  to  ask,  Mr.  Stukeley.  How  is 
Mrs.  Stukeley?" 

"  She's  very  well,  thanks.  You  didn't  think  I'd  learn 
your  little  secret  about  the  men  of  war." 

"  I  didn't  think  one  way  or  the  other.  You'd  have 
known  some  day  sure  enough.  I  needn't  disguise  the 
fact.  Yes.  We've  just  got  thirty  of  them,  to  join  at 
an  hour's  notice." 

"  When  we  sail  ?     When  will  that  be  ?  " 

"  We  ought  to  a  gone  to-day.  Only  our  fore-top- 
mast's sprung.  We  have  to  wait  for  a  new  one.  But 
you  know  yourself,  sir.  We  may  have  to  sail  at  an 
hour's  notice,  spar  or  no  spar." 


206  CAPTAIN  MAEGARET 

"  Thank  you  for  reminding  me.  You're  a  person  of 
great  delicacy,  Cammock.  For  one  of  vour  rank  in 
life." 

"  I  believe  I  am,  sir.     Let  it  go  at  that." 

"  Can  we  sail  at  an  hour's  notice  ? " 

"  If  the  Governor,  and  that  old  frigate,  the  royal  Non- 
such, don't  object.  I  suppose  we  could  if  we  had  to, 
even  without  a  topmast.  But  if  our  topmast  ain't 
aboard,  we  couldn't  run  very  fast.  I  reckon  we  could, 
sir." 

"  Leaving  all  that  tobacco  ashore  ?  " 

"  Yes.  All  except  about  fifty  ton,  which  we've  got 
aboard.  That  tobacco'll  go  home  in  the  summer  fleet, 
if  the  fleet  don't  want  to  cross  home  light." 

"  I  hear  you've  got  all  the  pick  of  the  crop." 

"  You  hear  a  lot  of  things,  sir.  Well-informed  man, 
Ed  Davis." 

"  He  knows  what's  going  on,"  said  Stukeley.  "  When 
you're  shut  up  with  a  couple  of  old  sheep,  like  your  two 
owners,  you  need  a  change." 

"  So  I  believe,  sir." 

"  What  d'you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  said." 

"  Ah,  yes.  A  simple,  rugged  nature.  Eh  ?  But 
how  can  we  put  to  sea  with  so  much  cargo  out  of  her  ?  " 

"  We're  not  too  light,  Mr.  Stukeley.  It  ain't  as 
though  we'd  emptied  her.  We've  taken  in  a  lot  of  fresh 
water.  A  lot  of  scantling,  too.  A  lot  of  this  Virginia 
cider.  Then  there's  the  new  cables  we  bought  from 
them  Hog  Islers.  Besides  the  fifty  odd  ton  of  tobacco. 
Still,  I  don't  say  but  what  she'll  cut  up  a  bit  of  a  dance, 
if  she  gets  any  weather  going  south." 

"  I  thought  all  her  cargo  was  consigned  to  Virginia." 

"Did  you,  sir?" 


IN  PORT  207 

"  Surely.  What's  the  good  of  fencing  ?  Good  luck, 
captain.  I'm  not  an  old  sheep,  like  your  owners." 

"  Indeed,  sir." 

"  You're  getting  funny,  captain.  A  wit.  You  ought 
to  have  been  at  the  University." 

"  That's  where  they  make  gentlemen,  sir." 

"  Oh,  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  We'd  one  of  them  come  with  us  in  the  Trinity.  I 
know  all  about  the  universities." 

"  He  taught  you,  eh  ?  Private  tuition  in  the  fore- 
castle ?  " 

"  Yes.  As  you  might  say.  One  of  the  things  he 

taught  was Well.  You  were  at  one  yourself.  I 

don't  think  he  could  have  learned  you  much." 

"  Don't  you  ?  Could  he  have  learned  me  (as  you  call 
it)  that  the  reason  you've  not  discharged  your  cargo 
here  is  that  you're  going  to  try  to  trade  along  the 
Main?" 

"  Ned  Davis  knows  a  lot,  it  seems." 

"  Don't  be  so  confounded  smart  and  hippy.  See  ? 
I  know  all  your  plans.  I  know  all  you  can  do,  and 
all  you're  going  to  try  to  do.  And  I  know  exactly  where 
you'll  go  wrong." 

"  Then  we  shan't  have  the  trouble  of  telling  you." 

"  What  d'you  say  to  going  up  the  river  after  Spring- 
er's little  city?  Eh?  There  might  be  something  in 
that." 

"  I  met  a  power  of  clever  men  in  my  time,"  said  Cam- 
mock.  "  I  don't  say  men  of  learning  and  that.  I  mean 
clever  fellers.  I  been  up  rivers  with  'em." 

"  Looking  for  cities  ?  " 

"  Cities  sometimes.  Sometimes  it  was  gold  mines. 
Then  again  it'd  be  Indians.  Boys  to  spear  fish  and  that. 
Or  perhaps  it  was  only  a  snatching-raid.  The  clever 


208  CAPTAIN  MAKGAEET 

fellers  was  never  any  good  at  it.  But,  hear  'em  talk. 
My." 

"  I  gather  your  intellect  is  trying  to  express  the  fact 
that  you  dislike  me.  I  think  I  trace  so  much.  I  see 
your  brain  floundering  towards  it." 

"  Huh,"  said  Cammock,  snorting.  "  I  think  I  see 
you  floundering  towards  that  little  city.  Man  alive. 
Good  heart  alive.  D'ye  know  what  sort  one  of  them 
rivers  is,  to  go  up  ?  You've  neither  skill  nor  sense  of  it. 
You  lie  there  bilged  in  your  bunk  like  a  barge  at  low 
tide,  and  you  come  the  funny  nigger,  trying  to  get  a 
raise.  I'll  tell  you  what  them  rivers  is  like.  See  here, 
now.  Listen  to  me.  I'll  perhaps  give  you  some  idea 
of  the  land  you're  bound  for." 

"  Really  ?     I  don't  know  that  I  want  to  hear  you." 

"  No.  But  I  want  you  to  hear  me,  Mr.  Stukeley. 
I'll  tell  you  where  the  golden  city  is." 

"  Now  you're  talking  business." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  Well.  When  you  come  in 
from  the  Samballoes,  you'll  see  the  land  ahead  of  you, 
like  a  wall  of  green.  Just  like  a  wall.  Think.  Dense. 
Then  you  come  to  two  rivers,  about  thirty  yards  across. 
They're  the  two  mouths  of  the  Conception  River.  You 
try  to  go  up  one  of  them  in  your  boat.  First  thing  you 
know  is  a  thundering  big  bar.  You'd  be  surprised  how 
ugly  them  little  bars  get.  Well.  Suppose  you  get 
across.  What's  next  ?  D'ye  know  what  a  snag  is  ?  " 

"  A  branch  of  alder  or  willow,  fallen  into  the  river." 

"  Yes.  Or  a  whole  whacking  big  great  oak,  Mr. 
Stukeley,  fallen  right  across,  and  rotting  there.  With 
its  branches  all  jammed  up  with  drift  and  drowned 
things.  Hornets'  nests  stuck  in  'em.  Great  grey  paper 
bags.  So  then  you  land,  and  take  out  your  macheat, 
and  cut  a  path  around  that  tree,  and  drag  your  boat 
around.  .May  take  you  an  hour  or  .more.  Then  intp 


IN  PORT  209 

your  boat  again,  after  sliding  down  a  mud-bank  with 
eighteen  inch  of  slime  on  top.  Presently  you  come  to 
a  lot  more  trees.  Out  you  get  and  cut  another  road. 
Perhaps  you  go  back  a  half-mile  to  find  a  place  where 
you  can  land.  Oh.  It's  death,  going  up  one  of  them 
brooks.  Then,  there's  shallows  where  you  wade. 
Rapids  where  you  wade  and  haul,  losing  your  footing 
and  getting  soused.  By  and  by  comes  a  cloud-burst 
somewhere  in  the  hills  above.  Or  perhaps  a  jam  of 
logs  bursts,  a  kind  of  a  natural  dam,  a  mile  or  two  above 
you.  Then.  Woosh.  You  see  a  wall  of  water  a  yard 
high  coming  at  you.  If  you're  slippy  on  your  oars  you 
get  ashore  from  that.  Maybe  you  hear  it  coming.  It 
makes  a  roar  like  the  tide.  You  drag  your  boat 
ashore." 

"  Aren't  you  rather  laying  it  on  for  my  benefit  ?  " 

"  As  for  laying  it  on,  Mr.  Stukeley,  I'll  make  you 
judge  for  yourself  as  soon  as  we  come  on  the  coast.  I 
tell  you  one  thing.  You'll  sing  mighty  small  when  you 
come  to 'tackle  such  a  country.  That's  something  you 
won't  have  learned,  where  you  learned  your  man- 
ners." 

Stukeley  laughed.  "  Well.  Go  on  with  your  yarn," 
he  said.  "  I  like  hearing  of  foreign  parts." 

"  !No,"  said  Cammock.  "  I'm  not  going  on.  But 
there's  your  city.  It's  within  twenty  miles  of  the  sea, 
and  within  five  of  the  eastern  Conception." 

"  Will  you  come  to  look  for  it  with  me  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Cammock.  "  I  won't.  I  don't  fancy 
your  company." 

"  I  like  you,  captain." 

Cammock  looked  at  him  steadily  for  a  moment,  anu 
then  lit  his  pipe  at  the  brazier. 

"  What  are  the  women  like  in  Darien  ?  " 

-"  You're  a  married  man,  Mr.  Stukeley." 


210  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  Thank  you.  I  know  I'm  a  married  man.  I  asked 
you  what  the  women  are  like  ?  " 

"  They're  mostly  a  rather  duskish  brown  or  copper 
colour." 

"  So  I  think  I  know.  Can  a  fellow  have  any  fun  with 
them?" 

"  They're  modest,  merry  creatures.  Very  kind,  sim- 
ple creatures.  Another  thing.  They're  strong  as  colts. 
You  see,  they  do  most  of  the  work.  They'll  carry  a 
man  like  you.  I  guess  you're  one  and  a  half  hundred- 
weight. They'd  carry  you  across  a  swamp.  And 
they're  only  very  small,  you  know.  As  for  fun,  I  don't 
know  what  you  mean." 

"  Cammock,  the  chaste  pirate." 

"  Now  go  easy,  Mr.  Stukeley.  I  can  take  a  lot,  but 
I  don't  take  pirate  of  any  man." 

"  The  virgin  martyr." 

"  We  had  one  of  our  men  a  martyr,  Mr.  Stukeley. 
He  tried  to  have  a  bit  of  l  fun,'  as  you  call  it,  with  one 
of  .the  Samballoes  women.  Lemuel  Bath  his  name  was. 
They  caught  him,  as  it  happened.  And  they  done  to 
him  what  they  do  to  each  other,  if  they  try  any  '  fun ' 
and  get  caught.  That  was  ashore  on  the  Main  at  the 
back  of  Sasardi  there.  I  was  ashore  the  next  day,  fill- 
ing water  at  the  'Seniqua.  We  seen  Bath  come  crip- 
pling down  the  beach,  with  his  head  back,  and  his  hands 
tearing  his  chest  all  bloody.  Tearing  his  chest  into 
strips  with  pain.  Naked,  too.  He  died  that  evening. 
No,  sir.  Don't  you  try  it." 

"  Thanks.  Niggers  aren't  in  my  line.  I  leave  them 
to  pirates." 

"  That's  you.  It's  time  I  was  on  deck,  Mr.  Stukeley. 
Adios,  senor.  Divertiete.  That's  what  we  used  to  say 
to  the  Spaniards  when  their  ransoms  were  paid."  He 
nodded  to  the.  head  which  watched  him  from  the  bunk* 


IN  POET  211 

Turning  on  his  heel,  he  passed  from  the  cabin,  pressing 
his  thumb  upon  his  pipe  to  kill  the  ember  in  the  bowl. 
"  I  wonder  if  there's  many  like  him,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  I  wonder  what  it  is  makes  him  like  that.  I'd  like 
him  in  a  watch.  Oh,  mommer."  As  he  muttered  thus, 
in  passing  to  the  deck,  Stukeley  turned  in  his  bunk, 
drawing  the  curtain.  "  Hulking  boor,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "  Hulking  old  savage.  This  is  the  sort  of  com- 
pany we  keep  when  we  come  to  sea.  Crusty  he  gets, 
when  you  bait  him."  He  thought  of  the  little  golden 
city  and  of  the  little  brown  women,  with  resolve  to  try 
them  both.  "  Good  luck,"  he  said ;  "  I  hope  we'll  soon 
get  out  of  here,  before  Olivia's  nerves  go  off  again." 
As  he  settled  himself  down  for  his  nap  he  was  roused 
by  a  noise  in  the  sample-room,  where  Mr.  Harthop 
broke  in  a  caskhead  with  a  tomahawk.  He  went  to  the 
alleyway-door  to  call  down  the  passage  to  Margaret's 
cabin. 

"  Margaret,"  he  cried,  "  can't  you  stop  that  beastly 
noise  for  a  bit  ?  Olivia's  lying  down." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Margaret,  coming  from  his  cabin. 

"  I  ought  to  have Mr.  Harthop,  will  you  please 

unhead  your  casks  on  deck?  The  noise  upsets  Mrs. 
Stukeley.  Apologize  for  me,  Stukeley." 

The  noise  ceased,  and  Stukeley  slept  like  an  infant, 
showing  his  strong  white  teeth  in  a  smile.  Harthop 
muttered  and  swore,  wishing  that  a  ship  with  a  woman 
in  her  might  sail  the  rivers  of  hell;  for  that  was  all 
she  was  fit  for.  He  reproved  the  man  who  was  working 
with  him  for  suggesting  the  tomahawk.  The  man 
sulked  and  loafed  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon,  and 
then  told  a  sympathetic  fo'c's'le  that  you  got  your  head 
bit  off  if  that  pale  Judy  in  the  cabin  heard  you  so  much 
as  "  hem."  Harthop,  nursing  his  wrath  till  knock- 
off  time,  took  it  out  of  the  boy  who  kept  his  cabin  clean. 


212  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  Can't  you  find  some  other  place  to  stow  your  brass- 
rags,  without  putting  them  under  my  mattress  ?  " 

"  Please,  sir,  they're  not  the  brass-rags.  They're  the 
rags  you  stuff  in  the  leaky  seam,  sir.  In  wet  weather, 
sir."' 

"  My  bed's  no  place  for  them,  you  dirty  young  hound. 
What  have  you  done  with  the  molasses  that  was  left  ?  " 

"  You'd  ate  all  your  molasses,  sir ;  from  last  week." 

"  There  was  some  left  in  the  tin.  You've  been  at  it 
again." 

"  No,  sir.     I  swear  I  haven't,  sir." 

"  How  many  times  have  I  told  you  I  won't  have  you 
swear?  Eh?  Give  me  my  supplejack." 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  wont  do  it  again.     I  won't  do  it  again." 

"  There,  my  boy.  Perhaps  that'll  teach  you  another 
time.  Now  go  and  lay  my  supper.  If  you  don't  stop 
howling  I'll  give  you  another  six." 

The  boy  went  forward  howling,  to  hide  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  hold,  where  he  could  cry  by  himself,  choking 
with  misery  and  shame,  praying  for  death.  If  he  had 
had  a  flint  and  steel  he  would  have  burnt  the  Broken 
Heart  at  her  anchor.  As  he  had  none,  he  sobbed  him- 
self to  sleep,  careless  of  Mr.  Harthop's  supper,  full 
of  the  bleeding,  aching  misery  which  none  save  the 
wronged  child  can  ever  taste  to  the  full.  When  it  was 
dark  and  all  had  gone  to  bed,  he  crept  aft  to  the  ward- 
room, where  the  bread-barge  and  the  case  of  spirits 
stood,  just  as  the  two  mates  had  left  them.  He  helped 
himself  to  bread  and  rum;  for  misery  had  made  him 
reckless.  Besides,  having  defied  Mr.  Harthop  he  might 
as  well  defy  the  two  mates.  So  he  ate  and  drank,  look- 
ing at  the  light  on  the  landing-stage,  which  made  a 
golden  track  to  dance.  It  trembled  in  yellow  flakes 
on  the  water,  a  path  of  gold,  to  the  blackness  of  the 
rudder  eddies  below  him.  He  was  not  very  sure  if  he 


IN  PORT  213 

could  swim  so  far;  but  he  did  not  care.  He  was  too 
wretched  to  mind  drowning.  It  was  very  dark  in  the 
wardroom.  It  was  dark  above  him  in  the  cabin.  Below 
him,  the  ship's  shadow  was  dark.  He  was  sure  that  the 
watchmen  would  not  see  him.  They  never  walked  on 
the  poop.  After  a  moment  of  groping  he  found  the  falls 
of  the  relieving-tackle,  and  unrove  the  raw  hide  till  he 
had  an  end  ten  feet  long.  He  hitched  the  tackle  so 
that  the  block  should  not  creak,  and  paid  out  the  end 
through  the  chase-port.  Then,  as  even  the  most  miser- 
able of  us  will,  he  felt  the  misery  of  leaving.  This  ship 
of  wretchedness  had  been  a  home  to  him.  He  remem- 
bered the  singing  in  the  dog-watch.  It  was  awful  to 
have  to  go  like  that.  In  his  wretchedness,  a  tear  or 
two  rolled  down  his  cheek,  to  splash  on  the  port-sill. 
A  light  footstep  moved  up  and  down  above  him.  One 
of  the  stern-windows  of  the  cabin  opened  with  a  little 
rattle.  He  heard  Stukeley's  voice  coming  from  the 
state-room  drowsily.  Then  Mrs.  Stukeley  spoke  from 
overhead. 

"  It's  such  a  beautiful  night,  Tom.  Do  come  and  see 
the  stars.  They're  wonderful.  Wonderful.  Come  and 
see  them,  Tom  dear." 

"  You'll  catch  your  death  of  cold." 

11  Bow-wow-wow.  What  an  old  bear.  I  shan't. 
I've  got  on  my  dressing-gown." 

"  Thanks.     I  prefer  my  bed." 

The  listener  in  the  wardroom  smiled  in  spite  of  his 
misery;  then  trembled  lest  the  lady  should  stay  long. 
For  suppose  a  watchman  crept  below  to  see  if  the  mates 
had  lef  t  any  rum  behind  them  ?  Suppose  anybody  came 
—  Mr.  Harthop,  Mr.  Eamage?  He  peered  into  the 
'tween-decks,  where  all  was  dark  and  still,  save  for  the 
cat's  eyes  gleaming  green,  watching  for  a  mouse,  and 
the  snores  of  Mr.  Kamage  in  his  hammock.  Then,  up 


214  CAPTAIN  MAEGAEET 

above  him,  moved  by  the  beauty  of  the  night,  the  woman 
began  to  sing,  in  a  voice  of  drowsy  sweetness,  in  a  little 
low  voice  that  made  each  word  a  pearl,  a  round,  lustrous 
pearl,  a  tiny  globe  that  glowed  in  the  mind,  it  was  so 
perfect,  so  ripe,  so  tender.  She  was  singing  that  old 
song  of  Campion's  about  the  woman  who  had  played 
with  love  in  the  hour  of  her  beauty.  She  was  a  woman 
who  had  played,  and  been  played  with;  till  her  beauty 
withered  just  as  she  had  learned  the  worth  of  love,  just 
as  life  had  made  her  worthy  of  love,  at  her  coming  to 
wisdom :  — 

Where  are  all  thy  beauties  now,  all  hearts  enchaining? 
Whither  are  thy  flatterers  gone,  with  all  their  feigning? 
All  fled,  and  thou,  alone,  still  here  remaining. 

When  thy  story,  long  time  hence,  shall  be  perused, 
Let  the  blemish  of  thy  rule  be  thus  excused, 
"  None  ever  lived  more  just,  none  more  abused." 

The  window  closed  amid  murmured  words ;  Stukeley, 
moved  by  the  voice,  had  drawn  his  wife  away.  The 
boy  sighed  that  it  was  over;  then  corked  the  rum- 
bottle  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  He  would  have  taken 
some  bread,  had  he  been  able  to  carry  it  dry.  He 
thought  of  dashing  to  his  chest  in  the  half-deck  for  an 
extra  shirt;  but  gave  up  the  plan  as  being  too  risky. 
Very  quietly  and  quickly  he  slid  down  the  rope  into  the 
water,  letting  the  tide  take  him,  striking  out  now  and 
again,  towards  the  landing-stage.  He  was  puzzled  by 
the  coming  of  the  ripples ;  they  hit  him  in  the  cheek  be- 
fore he  judged  that  they  were  near.  He  got  a  mouth- 
ful once,  and  choked;  but  none  heard.  Very  soon  he 
was  clambering  up  the  landing,  gulping  rum  with  shud- 
ders. Then,  after  wringing  out  his  jacket,  he  set  out 
to  run  along  the  sandy  track  that  was  the  street.  The 
dogs  barked  as  they  heard  his  feet  beat;  but  he  kept 


IN  PORT  215 

on,  for  some  three  miles,  till  he  dropped  tired  out  among 
the  wood.  There  he  lay  shivering  in  the  scrub  till  the 
dawn,  when,  seeing  a  plantation  near,  he  sought  shelter 
of  the  planter,  who  hired  him  "  for  his  keep,"  glad  of 
the  chance.  In  the  morning,  when  hue  and  cry  was 
made  for  him,  when  boys  and  men  called  and  crawled 
for  him  among  the  cargo  of  the  ship,  no  one  suspected 
that  Stukeley  was  the  indirect  cause  of  his  desertion. 
The  mates  swore  when  they  found  their  rum  gone.  The 
other  boys  swore  when  they  had  to  do  the  deserter's 
work.  Cammock  swore  at  the  watchmen  for  not  bar- 
ring in  the  chase-ports,  while  the  watchmen  swore  that 
they  had  barred  them.  Mr.  Harthop  swore  that  if  ever 
he  caught  that  boy  again  he  would  give  him  cherrilic- 
cum  pie.  Thus  the  matter  came  to  an  end. 


IX' 


The  shame  and  obloquy  I  leave  thine  own; 
Inherit  those  rewards;   they're  fitter  for  thee. 
Your  oil's  spent,  and  your  snuff  stinks :  go  out  basely. 

The  False  One. 

STANDING  on  the  poop,  looking  seaward,  the  five 
cabin-dwellers  watched  the  summer  fleet  come  in. 
It  came  in  haltingly,  a  scattered  troop  of  ships, 
some  with  spars  gone,  one  or  two,  fir-built,  streaked 
white  where  a  shot  had  struck ;  all  seaworn.  Cammock, 
watching  them,  sent  his  boat  round  to  the  "  men  of  war  " 
to  order  them  aboard  at  once.  Harthop  had  already 
been  settled  ashore,  in  charge  of  the  tobacco,  under  the 
Governor's  eye.  He  would  make  good  terms  for  the 
ship's  owners ;  the  merchants  at  home  could  hardly  lose 
on  the  venture. 

"  We're  all  right,  sir,"  said  Cammock  to  Margaret. 
"  There's  probably  a  letter.  But  the  Governor's  your 
friend.  You  needn't  worry." 

"  I  wish  I  could  see  things  as  you  see  them,  captain," 
said  Margaret.  "  But  I  can't.  How  is  it  you  always 
have  a  plan  ?  How  do  you  discipline  yourself  ?  How 
is  it  you're  always  ready  ?  " 

"  I  dunno,  sir.  I've  only  got  a  few  things  to  think 
of,  and  I  think  'em  out.  P'r'aps  that's  it.  But  just 
step  aft,  sir.  Look  here,  sir.  We're  ready  to  sail.  The 
new  topmast's  aloft.  We're  a  little  light,  perhaps,  but 

216 


A  FAREWELL  DINNER  217 

nothing  to  hurt.  The  thing  is  —  are  you  going  to  give 
him  up  ?  You  got  to  decide  now." 

"  I  can't.     We  must  think  of  her  child." 

"  She  can't  have  a  child  on  the  Isthmus." 

"  There'll  be  time  enough  to  arrange  something  else 
when  we  get  there.  But  she  must  be  spared  the  shock." 

"  Very  good,  sir.  I'll  send  the  long-boat  in  for  all  the 
fresh  meat  and  fruit  there  is." 

"  Oh,  I  know,  captain.  I  know  it's  not  the  rightest 
thing  for  her.  A  voyage  to  sea." 

"  She'll  get  that  anyway,  sir.  Either  way.  Very 
good,  sir.  I'll  have  all  ready  to  sail.  I've  sent  for  the 
'  men  of  war.'  They'll  join  us  either  here,  or  between 
the  Points.  Well,  Mr.  Perrin.  We're  off  to-night, 
sir." 

"  But  we're  all  dining  with  the  Governor.  You've 
surely  not  forgotten  that,  Charles." 

"  Look  there,  Edward.     There's  the  summer  fleet." 

"  What  if  it  is  ?  We  can't  throw  the  Governor  over. 
We  must  dine  with  the  Governor.  What?  You  an 
Englishman  and  want  not  to  dine  with  a  lord  ? " 

"  How  about  our  friend  there  ?  " 

"  No  Englishman  would  arrest  a  guest  at  dinner.  He 
values  his  digestion  and  his  butL.''s  opinion  too  much. 
There's  no  risk.  Oh,  we  must  go  to  the  dinner.  I've 
got  a  new  American  coat  to  go  in." 

"  No  harm  in  it,  sir,"  said  Cammock.  "  It  might 
divert  the  lady,  poor  thing." 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret,  sighing.  "  If  it  won't  tire 
her."  He  crossed  over  to  the  Stukeleys.  "  Olivia,"  he 
said,  "  Perrin  has  just  reminded  me  that  we're  dining 
to-night  at  the  Governor's.  It  won't  tire  you  ?  " 

"  Tire  me  ?     Of  course  it  won't." 

"  You  would  like  to  go  ?  " 

"We    both    want    to    go.     Tom's    going    to    sing 


218  .     CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'  Twankydillo.'  We  may  have  enough  ladies  for  a 
dance." 

"  We  shall  probably  sail,  directly  we  come  aboard  to- 
night." 

"  Sail,  Charles  ?     Not  for  Darien  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Olivia.     For  Darien." 

"  Ah-h."  She  turned  white.  Little  as  she  liked  Vir- 
ginia, she  knew  it,  she  had  proved  it.  The  unknown 
was  before  her  now,  close  at  hand,  shapeless  yet,  ill- 
defined,  a  spectral  country.  For  a  moment  she  stared 
blankly  at  Margaret  with  the  eyes  of  a  frightened  animal. 
"  Isn't  it.  Isn't  it  rather  sudden  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes.  Rather  sudden,"  he  answered  in  a  hard  voice. 
"But,  of  course,  we  may  not  go.  You  see,  Stukeley. 
You  see,  Olivia.  The  summer  fleet  there  may  have  let- 
ters for  us.  May  have  letters  for  us."  He  groped 
about  for  an  excuse.  "  My  owners,"  he  went  on.  "  My 
merchants  may  wish  me  to  proceed  at  once.  On  the 
other  hand,  we  may  be  told  to  trade  at  Charleston.  Or 
trade  rather  longer  here.  Though  we've  done  well  here. 
It's  possible.  You  understand,  Olivia.  I  told  you  the 
day  we  left  Falmouth.  Our  whole  aim  was  to  have  our 
work  done  before  the  summer  fleet  arrived.  To  buy 
up  the  tobacco  crop  before  some  of  it  is  fully  cured. 
And,  to  tell  the  truth,  we've  hurried  all  we  could." 

"  Don't  worry,  old  girl,"  said  Stukeley,  drawing  his 
wife  aside.  "  The  sooner  we  go,  the  sooner  we'll  be 
back." 

"  Oh,  Tom.     Don't  go.     Don't  let  us  go." 

"  Oh,  come,  come,"  he  said,  biting  his  lips.  "  It'll 
be  all  right.  Maggy.  Come  here,  Maggy.  If  you 
meet  a  home-bound  English  ship  on  our  way  we  may  ask 
to  be  transhipped." 

"  Oh,"  said  Olivia ;  "  then  why  not  go  ashore  now, 
Tom  ?  Why  go  on  to  Darien  ?  " 


A  FAREWELL  DINNER  219 

•  * 

Stukeley  muttered  to  himself  about  his  folly.  "  Now 
we're  going  all  over  it  again,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  Re- 
member, I'm  pledged  in  honour,  Livy,"  he  said. 

"  Then,  Charles,  you'll  release  him  from  his  pledge, 
won't  you  ?  Let  him  come  ashore.  I  want  to  go  home." 

Margaret  flushed,  and  then  turned  white.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  wavered ;  she  saw  him  waver. 

"  You  will,  Charles.     Won't  you  ?  " 

"  Olivia,"  he  answered.  "  I  cannot.  I'd  like  to. 
But  he's  such  a  good  Spanish  scholar.  He's  the  only 
one  of  us  who  really  knows  Spanish.  I'd  grown  to  count 
on  him.  We  all  had." 

"  But  you  could  get  Spanish  talkers  here,  Charles. 
Couldn't  he,  Captain  Cainmock  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am.  You  couldn't  get  gentlemen,  Mrs. 
Stukeley.  And  you  see  the  Dons  is  particular." 

"  Yet  you  sailed  from  London'  without  a  Spanish 
talker." 

"  Yes,"  said  Perrin.  "  But  our  plans  were  different 
then." 

"  How  were  they  different  then  ?  I'm  going  to  cross- 
examine  you  all." 

"  We  decided  to  try  to  trade  with  some  of  the  Spanish 
cities,  Olivia ;  having  so  good  an  interpreter." 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  fight  with  the  Spanish 
cities.  That's  what  we  decided  in  council." 

"  My  dear  Livy,"  said  Stukeley.  "  You're  like  a 
justice  of  the  peace." 

"  But  I  want "  She  checked  herself  sharply, 

and  looked  at  the  incoming  ships.  The  men  also  turned 
to  look,  as  she  had  planned  that  they  should. 

"  That's  a  nice  one,  isn't  it,  Captain  Cammock  ?  " 

"  The  Dutch-built  one,  Mrs.  Stukeley  ?     No." 

"  How  do  you  know  she's  Dutch-built  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  know  whether  to  trust  a  man  when 


220  CAPTAIN  MARGAKET 

you  meet  him,  Mrs.  Stukeley  ?  You  don't  rightly  know. 
You  have  an  instinct.  I've  an  instinct  for  ships. 
There's  twenty  things  tells  me  she's  Dutch,  long  before 
I've  time  to  examine  them." 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret,  only  too  glad  of  the  diversion. 
"  But  I  want  you  to  tell  us  now  what  it  is  that  makes 
you  say  she's  Dutch.  It's  in  her  hull,  isn't  it  ?  What 
is  it  in  her  hull  ?  " 

"  The  Dutch,  sir,"  said  Cammock,  "  are  built  for  the 
India  trade,  and  they  give  their  ships  a  rather  high 
sheer,  and  not  quite  so  much  camber  as  an  English 
builder  likes.  Then  they  like  a  very  flat  floor,  and  a 

tuck  that "  He  wandered  on  into  a  swamp  of  sea 

terms,  taking  it  for  granted  that  his  hearers  understood 
him.  Margaret  and  Perrin  plied  him  close  with  ques- 
tions as  the  ship  loitered  past  them,  rolling  in  the  light 
wind,  her  men  singing  out  at  her  cluelines.  While  they 
talked,  Stukeley  and  Olivia  went  below  to  the  cabin; 
Stukeley  with  the  feeling  that  Olivia  would  now  make 
no  more  fuss;  Olivia  with  the  sense  that  all  was  not 
well,  that  something  was  withheld  from  her. 

"  Tom,"  she  said  suddenly,  as  soon  as  the  cabin-door 
had  closed,  "  you're  keeping  something  from  me.  What 
is  it  ?  Why  am  I  not  to  know  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  keeping  anything  back." 

"  Tom,  I  think  you're  being  made  a  tool  of.  I  think 
Charles  has  some  scheme  that  isn't  quite  right.  Don't 
be  dragged  into  it,  Tom." 

"  Dragged  into  it,  Livy  ?  " 

"  You've  a  noble,  trusting  nature,  Tom ;  and  I  love 
you  for  it.  But.  Oh,  I  feel  sure  Charles  has  some 
deep-laid  scheme,  that  he's  afraid  to  tell  you  of.  I  don't 
think  he  was  telling  the  truth  to  me  just  now.'* 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  Livy.  He  couldn't  tell  a  lie  if  he 
tried." 


A  FAREWELL  DINNER  221 

"  No,  Tom,  dear ;  but  he  was  trying." 

"When?" 

"  He  was  trying  to  find  a  reason  for  the  ship's  sailing 
to-night." 

"  But  it  was  the  plan,  Livy.  We  expected  to  sail  as" 
soon  as  the  summer  fleet  came." 

"  Why,  Tom  ?     Tell  me  that." 

"  There  may  be  letters  ordering  us  to  sail.  My  dear 
girl.  Maggy's  got  a  whole  firm  of  merchants  to  order 
him  as  they  please.  We  had  to  be  ready  in  case  an 
order  came  from  them.  There  may  be  no  order." 

"  But  we  weren't  ready,  Tom.  When  the  fleet  was 
signalled  we  were  in  the  midst  of  trading." 

"  Yes.  But  my  dear  child.  If  there's  no  order,  we 
may  trade  again  to-morrow." 

"  You  think  it's  all  right  then,  Tom  ?     Do  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do,  Livy.  You've  got  fine  eyes,  Livy. 
Did  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  But  why  should  they  alter  their  scheme  of  fighting 
the  Spaniards?  You  promised  to  help  the  Indians 
against  the  Spaniards.  Now  you're  suddenly  asked  to 
help  Charles's  merchants  to  make  trade  with  the  Span- 
iards. You  never  promised  to  do  that.  And  I  should 
never  have  let  you.  Never.  Never.  Oh,  Tom,  they've 
tricked  us  cruelly.  They  aren't  going  to  help  the  In- 
dians, Tom.  They're  going  to  make  money,  like  com- 
mon city-merchants.  And  they  want  my  noble,  gener- 
ous Tom  to  help  them.  Don't  do  it,  dear.  Don't  do  it. 
I  can't  bear  it." 

"  My  dear  Livy." 

"  I  can't  have  you  mixed  up  with  merchants." 

"  Look  here,  old  girl.  Aren't  you  a  little  unreason- 
able? We've  decided  that  we  can  help  the  Indians 
best  by  making  some  sort  of  agreement  with  the  Span- 
iards." 


222  CAPTAIN  MAKGAKET 

"  You  say  we  have  decided  this.  When  was  it  de- 
cided ?  Why  wasn't  I  told  ?  " 

"We  haven't  really  decided.  It  was  suggested  last 
night.  After  you'd  gone  to  bed." 

"  Why  wasn't  I  told  ?     What  was  suggested  ?  " 

"  It's  a  fine  idea,  Livy.  Cammock  suggested  our  go- 
ing to  one  of  the  towns  and  proposing  an  agreement  with 
the  Governor." 

"  What  sort  of  an  agreement  ?  " 

"  The  Governor  to  trade  with  us,  just  as  if  we  were 
Spanish.  The  English  to  abstain  from  hostilities,  and 
the  Indians  to  be  accounted  English  subjects.  And  they 
want  me  to  interview  the  Governor." 

"  It's  only  an  excuse  to  make  money,  Tom.  To  make 
money  without  the  self-sacrifice  of  fighting.  And  what 
if  the  Spaniards  refuse  ?  " 

"  Then  we  should  have  some  just  excuse  for  proceed- 
ing as  we'd  planned." 

"  Tom,  I  don't  think  they've  been  straightforward 
with  us.  There's  something  hidden.  I'm  sure  of 
it." 

"  But  what  can  be  hidden,  Livy  ?  My  darling 
charmer.  Eh?  Besides,  look  here,  my  beauty-spot. 
I'm  ambitious.  I  want  to  make  my  Livy  proud.  See  ? 
If  I  see  these  Governors,  and  bring  off  some  arrange- 
ment. You  see  ?  It's  a  big  matter,  Livy.  It's  knight- 
hood. It  may  be  a  seat  on  the  Trade  and  Plantations 
Board.  It  may  be  all  sorts  of  things." 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  Tom,  I  quite  see  that.  I'm  am- 
bitious for  you,  too.  There,  dear,  I  know  you've  set 
your  heart  on  it.  Oh,  Tom,  though,  I  hate  the  thought 
of  it  all.  And  I'm  sure  there's  something  hidden.  I'm 
sure  there  is.  I  wish  I  knew." 

"  Konsense,"  he  said,  taking  her  in  his  arms. 
"Where'd  you  like  to  be  kissed?  I'm  going  to  kiss 


A  FAREWELL  DINNER  223 

your  nose  because  you've  got  it  turned  up  in  the  air  to- 
day." 

"  I  haven't,  Tom." 

"  Come  here/'  he  said,  catching  her  as  she  wriggled 
free.  "  None  of  your  wriggles.  Come  and  be  kissed. 
You're  not  going  to  dress  till  your  nose  is  kissed." 

An  hour  later,  they  stood  in  the  Governor's  house 
waiting  for  the  Governor  to  receive  them.  They  fidg- 
eted about  the  large,  cool,  rather  bare  room ;  now  staring 
through  the  window  at  the  ships,  now  fingering  the 
books,  turning  up  the  pictures  to  the  light.  Stukeley 
took  a  pistol  from  the  wall,  and  examined  the  engraved 
silver  of  the  butt.  Olivia  chatted  with  Perrin  about  the 
rambler  roses  trailing  round  the  window. 

"  We  must  take  some  slips  to  Darien,"  said  Perrin. 
"  But  I  don't  much  like  this  dark  red  kind." 

"  We  have  them  at  home,"  she  answered  quietly.  "  I 
shall  take  home  some  slips  from  Darien ;  for  everything 
will  grow  with  us.  I  expect  lots  of  things  would  trans- 
plant." 

"  Yes,  lots,"  he  answered. 

"  Olivia,"  said  Margaret,  "  have  you  seen  this  Rem- 
brandt?" 

"  Why,"  she  said.  "  It's  the  Hundred  Guilder  Print. 
It's  like  meeting  an  old  friend." 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret,  peering.  "  It's  a  very  beau- 
tiful state,  too.  What's  the  etching  beyond  you  there, 
Edward?" 

"  One  of  Hollar's." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  Margaret.  "  It's  interesting  to  put  a 
Hollar  beside  the  real  thing.  No  artist  can  make  a  ship 
wonderful  to  us.  A  ship  is  a  wonderful  Work  of  art 
without  him.  Just  look  at  them  there,  Olivia." 

"  They're  beautiful,"  she  said,  looking  at  the  ships. 
"  Why.  The  Broken  Heart's  under  saiL" 


224  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  Her  topsails  are  on  the  caps.     Ready  for  us  to 

go." 

"  In  case  we  do  go  ?  " 

"  Yes.  In  case."  Olivia  looked  at  him  steadily,  not- 
ing that,  for  all  his  self-control,  he  seemed  uneasy  at 
her  look.  The  situation  was  saved  by  the  entrance  of 
an  orderly,  in  the  white  coat  and  blue  scarf  of  the  Vir- 
ginia troop.  He  saluted. 

"  The  Governor  presents  's  compliments  'n'  '11  join 
you  d'rec'ly." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Margaret.  "  I  suppose  the  mails 
have  arrived  ?  Do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  man,  as  he  stood  in  the  doorway. 
"  In  the  summer  fleet,  sir." 

"  Thank  you." 

"  What  have  you  got  there,  Tom  ?  "  said  Olivia. 

"  A  little  pretty  pistol,"  he  said.   , 

"  Nice  silver  chasing,"  said  Perrin. 

"  Spanish,"  said  Margaret.  "  They  make  those  at 
Toledo." 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Olivia. 

"  Yes.  Spanish,"  said  Stukeley.  "  Wheel-lock. 
Loaded.  Priming-cup  lidded.  A  very  nice  little  gun. 
See  the  Spanish  motto  ?  " 

"  What  does  the  Spanish  mean  ?  "  asked  Olivia.  "  Se 
nada,  pero.  I  can't  read  it." 

"  It  means,  '  I  know  nothing.  But  I  talk  well.' 
I  wonder  if  I've  forgotten  my  pistol  shooting.  Eh  ?  I 
used  to  be  able  to  nail  the  ace  of  diamonds  at  a  dozen 
yards.  Let's  make  Pilly  back  up  against  the  wall,  and 
do  the  William  Tell  act." 

"  Tom,  dear.  Don't  play  with  that.  It's  loaded. 
You  might  hurt  somebody." 

"  Yes.  Put  it  down,  Stukeley,"  said  Margaret. 
"  It's  one  of  old  Howard's  treasures.  Put  it  down," 


A  FAREWELL  DINNER  225 

"Put  it  down?"  said  Stukeley.  "You've  got  a 
nerve  to  tell  me  to  put  it  down.  I  want  this  little  gun. 
I  like  it.  I'm  going  to  bag  it.  If  anybody  interferes 
with  me  at  dinner,  Livy,  I  shall  just  plug  him.  Pop. 
In  between  the  eyes.  You  see  if  I  don't."  He  slipped 
the  pistol  into  his  pocket. 

Margaret  smiled  to  see  Olivia's  face  of  horror. 

"Why,"  said  Stukeley.  "Why,  Livy,  that's  what 
they  do  in  this  country.  What  are  old  what's-his- 
name's  swords  like?  Look,  here,  for  a  sword.  Eh? 
There's  a  temper.  Look  here.  See  ?  " 

"  That's  a  fine  piece  of  steel,"  said  Margaret.  "  Is  it 
Milanese  ?  " 

"  Milanese  ?  Milanese  ?  Milanese  in  your  eye. 
Are  you  touched  ?  It's  Spanish.  Comes  from  a  place 
called  Toledo,  if  you've  ever  heard  of  it.  Spanish 
motto  like  the  other.  Old  Howard  must  collect  Spanish 
things." 

"  What  is  the  motto  ?  "  Olivia  asked. 

"No  me  saques  sin  razon:  well.  Do  not  draw  me 
without  reason.  Unless  he  spits  in  your  face,  for  in- 
stance. No  me  envaines  sin  honor:  ISTor  sheathe  me 
till.  Well.  Till  you've  made  sure." 

"Made  sure?" 

"  Seen  that  the  other  fellow's  juice  is  pink.  Stand 
still,  Maggy,  till  I  see  if  you've  got  red  blood  in  you. 
I  could  prod  you  from  here  just  under  your  fourth 
rib.  Ping.  Eh?  This  sword  just  suits  me.  Look, 
Olivia.  Look  how  they've  inlaid  this  hilt." 

"What  beautiful  work,  Tom.  And  what  a  waste. 
To  put  all  that  beautiful  work  on  to  a  sword." 

"  A  sword's  a  knight's  weapon,"  said  Margaret. 
"  How  could  we  defend  Olivia  Stukeley  if  our  swords 
weren't  worthily  made." 

"  There's  the  question,"  said  Stukeley.     "  Look  at  old 


226  CAPTAIN  MAEGAKET 

Pilly  there.  What  book  have  you  got  there,  Pilly? 
Read  it  out  to  us." 

"  It's  a  book  of  sick  man's  meditations,"  said  Perrin. 
"  I  won't  read  it  out.  Look  at  it.  It's  all  thumbed  to 
dog's  ears." 

"  Howard's,"  said  Margaret.  "  What  an  extraordi- 
nary book  for  him  to  have." 

"  Oh,"  said  Perrin,  "  that's  the  secret  of  an  English- 
man's success.  He's  nothing  better  than  a  pirate, 
grabbing  all  he  can  get.  Oh,  I'm  not  English,  myself. 
But  the  secret  of  his  success  is  in  this  book  here.  He 
makes  his  peace  with  God  as  he  goes  on.  The  other 
people.  I  don't  know  about  the  Dutch.  They  beat 
you ;  so  they  must  be  like  you,  only  better.  The  other 
people  try  to  make  their  peace  before  or  after;  and 
so  they  lose,  either  way,  But  you  know,  Olivia,  you 
are " 

"  The  Dutch  didn't  beat  us,"  said  Stukeley.  "  We 
beat  them.  So  you're  out  of  it  there,  little  Taffy  with 
the  Leek." 

"  How  about  the  Medway  ?  Look,  Olivia.  Look  at 
Jamestown.  This  is  the  capital  of  our  chief  colony. 
Would  any  other  nation  in  the  world  produce  a  capital 
of  twenty  wooden  houses,  a  fort,  a  church,  and  a  Gov- 
ernor's mansion?  This  is  the  mansion.  Look  at  it." 

"  A  better  mansion  than  you've  got  at  home,"  said 
Stukeley.  "  What  are  you  talking  of  ?  " 

"  Suppose  the  Dutch  were  here.  Think  what  a  city 
they'd  have  built." 

"  What  a  hot  head  it  is,"  said  Margaret  gently.  "  I 
don't  agree  with  you  a  bit,  Edward.  You're  all  wrong. 
The  Dutch  haven't  done  much  in  the  East." 

"At  least,  they've  worked;  and  made  the  Indians 
work." 

"  And  the  English  here.     Have  they  worked  ?  " 


A  FAREWELL  DINNER  227 

"  Not  so  much." 

"  Isn't  that  an  argument  against  you  ?  It  tells  just 
the  other  way.  Work  is  often  one  of  the  most  degrad- 
ing things  in  the  world.  All  work  that  gives  no  rapture 
of  creation  is  degrading.  That  is  why  the  merchant 
is  poor  company,  and  the  professional  a  conservative. 
The  Dutch  built  Batavia;  but  their  system  has  ruined 
the  spice  trade.  The  Spaniards  built  San  Domingo; 
but  their  system  ruined  the  island.  They've  built 
Panama  and  Lima;  but  they've  destroyed  both  Costa 
Rica  and  Peru.  A  city  can  only  be  the  growth  of  a 
civilization.  You  can  only  build  a  colonial  city  by 
agreeing  to  ruin  the  colony.  So  here.  There  may  be  a 
time  when  all  the  trees  in  sight  will  have  sailed  out  to 
sea.  This  harbour  may  be  crowded  with  ships.  Who 
knows  ?  This  place  may  be  another  Athens  some  day." 

"  There's  not  much  Athens  here  now.  The  colonials 
aren't  much  like  Athenians." 

"  I  think  they're  very  like,  Edward.  They're  fond  of 
liberty.  They  take  a  beautiful  pride  in  their  bodies. 
They  are  attached  to  the  country.  They're  very  like 
Athenians.  The  world  doesn't  alter  much:" 

"  How  about  Plato  and  Sophocles  ?  " 

"  They  were  not  the  world.  They  had  wrought  them- 
selves to  something  finer  than  the  world." 

"  The  Governor's  got  a  devil  of  a  lot  of  letters,"  said 
Stukeley.  "  There  goes  his  secretary  to  him." 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  I  pity  the  man  who  tries  it,"  Stukeley  mut- 
tered, thinking  of  an  arrest. 

"  Is  this  a  very  good  harbour  for  ships  ? "  Olivia 
asked. 

"  Yes ;  very  good,"  said  Margaret.  "  Don't  you  love 
to  imagine  the  river  here  full  of  ships,  the  biggest  and 
most  beautiful  kinds  of  ships?  And  then  the  banks 


228  CAPTAIN  MARGABET 

here,  and  yonder,  with  a  city.  A  city,  built  of  marble. 
Marble  cathedrals.  And  a  great  citadel  on  the  hill 
there." 

"  A  great  naval  power  is  always  on  the  brink  of  ruin," 
said  Perrin.  "  Athens  was  a  great  naval  power,  and 
had  her  navy  smashed  by  a  power  without  a  navy. 
Carthage  the  same.  Spain  was  greatest  at  the  eighty- 
eight.  There's  another  instance." 

"  Naval  power  is  a  very  fine  thing,"  said  Margaret. 
"  You're  mixing  up  greatness,  and  the  weakness  which 
comes  of  overweening  pride,  or  the  defect  of  greatness." 

"  That's  what  you  silly  Celts  are  always  doing,"  said 
Stukeley. 

At  this  moment  the  orderly  reappeared,  saluting. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sirs,"  he  said,  "  but  which  of  you  gents 
is  Captain  Margaret  ?  " 

"  I  am." 

"  'Is  lordship's  compliments,  sir ;  V  will  you  step 
this  way  ?  " 

Margaret  glanced  at  the  faces  of  his  friends.  Stuke- 
ley sat  down,  nursing  the  sword,  looking  at  the  doorway 
and  at  the  window.  Perrin,  who  sincerely  hoped  he 
was  about  to  see  the  end  of  Stukeley,  enjoyed  a  mental 
vision  of  the  Ephesian  matron.  His  day-dream  was  of 
Olivia  in  black,  in  a  darkened  London  room,  and  of 
himself,  the  comforter,  come  to  console  her,  with  plati- 
tude in  low  tone,  sentiment  speaking  grief's  language. 
Olivia  turned  to  the  spinet.  She  tried  one  or  two  notes 
with  her  finger,  making  little  wry  mouths  at  the  want 
of  tune.  "  Is  there  any  Virginian  music,  Edward  ?  " 
she  asked.  "  I  heard  some  negroes  singing  in  the  to- 
bacco fields  the  other  day.  It  sounded  very  sweet.  It 
came  home  to  one  strangely.  All  working  songs  come 
home  to  one,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Perrin.     "  They  are  so  simple.     They're 


A  FAREWELL  DINNER  229 

like  a  simple  person  speaking  passionately.  They  leave 
the  intellect  untouched,  of  course." 

"  Yes.  But  you  and  Charles  are  always  blaming 
poultry,  shall  we  say,  for  not  being  golden  eagles.  Poul- 
try as  poultry  are  very  good.  Don't  you  think  so? 
Won't  you  sit  down,  Edward?  This  is  the  song  the 
negroes  sang.  I  think  it's  so  charming." 

While  she  touched  the  tune  upon  the  spinet,  Mar- 
garet stood  in  the  presence  of  Howard,  the  Governor, 
a  heavy-looking,  weary-looking  man  with  dark  mous- 
taches. His  voice  was  hard  and  grating,  an  official 
voice.  It  jarred  on  Margaret,  who  expected  bad  news 
from  it. 

"  Sit  down,  Margaret,"  he  said,  picking  up  a  letter. 
"  I  hope  you're  well." 

"  Thanks.     Yes.     You  wanted  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Do  you  know  that  I  could  lodge  you  all  in  prison  ?  " 

"  So  you've  heard,  then  ?  " 

"  Read  this  letter." 

He  glanced  through  the  letter  of  instructions  from 
the  Board.  It  set  forth  Stukeley's  crime,  the  details 
of  the  escape  from  Salcombe,  the  necessity  for  the  ar- 
rest of  the  whole  party;  it  was  not  a  pleasant  letter. 
]STo  one  had  ever  before  described  Margaret  as  an  abettor 
of  felons;  the  sensation  was  new;  and  oppressive,  like 
some  contaminations. 

"  Well,"  said  Howard.  "  You  seem  to  take  it  very 
coolly." 

"  I've  been  preparing  for  this  moment  for  a  quarter 
of  a  year." 

"  What  is  this  Stukeley  ?  He  seems  a  boorish  kind 
of  fellow." 

"  He's  an  unpleasant  man.     A  bad  man." 

"  I  should  call  him  a  thorough  scoundrel,  from  that 
letter." 


230  CAPTAIN  MAEGAKET 

"  He's  married  to  a  charming  woman.  A  woman 
I've  known  for  years.  You  can  see  for  yourself  that 
she's  a  lot  too  good  for  him." 

"  Do  you  wish  him  to  be  arrested  \  You  know  the 
penalty,  of  course  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  could  plead  ignorance  ? " 

"  You  ?     Yes.     But  he.     Sus.  per  col     Eh  ?  " 

"  I  think,  Howard,  he  ought  to  be  cut  off.  But  his 
wife's  going  to  have  a  child.  I  happen  to  know  her, 
as  I  said.  She  believes  in  him.  She  doesn't  suspect. 
I'm  afraid  the  shock  would  kill  both  her  and  the  child." 

"  You'd  rather  that  I  didn't  arrest  ?  " 

"  For  her  sake,  yes.  And  for  the  sake  of  the  mer- 
chants concerned  in  the  venture  with  me." 

"Your  tobacco  will  keep  them  from  loss.  They're 
all  right.  Do  you  know  that  your  Darien  scheme  is 
known  in  Spain  ?  " 

"Ah.  Then.  Then  the  Government  will  curry  fa- 
vour with  Spain  by  arresting  us  on  this  pretext,  and 
claiming  to  have  stopped  us  on  her  account  ?  " 

"  That  is,  of  course,  possible.  It  depends  on  party 
needs  at  the  moment.  I  know  nothing  of  that." 

"  It  is  something  you  ought  to  reckon,  Howard." 

"Well.  If  I  don't  arrest  you.  You've  put  me  in 
such  an  awkward  position.  I  can't  very  well  arrest  my 
guests.  It  would  bring  me  into  disfavour,  and  my 
office  into  disrepute.  I  don't  know  what  to  say.  Are 
you  ready  to  sail  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Why  didn't  you  sail  two  or  three  days  ago?  As 
soon  as  you'd  made  your  voyage.  Why  in  the  world 
did  you  wait  for  the  tobacco  fleet  ?  " 

"  We  were  kept  waiting  for  our  new  topmast.  We 
found  our  foretopmast  sprung.  It  was  only  this  mom- 


A  FAREWELL  DINNER  231 

ing  that  we  finished  setting  up  the  rigging  on  the  new 
spar." 

"  You  understand,  Margaret,  that  at  this  moment 
you're  Stukeley's  judge.  You've  got  power  of  life  and 
death  over  him.  You  can  turn  it  over  in  your  mind, 
and  then  say,  whether  you  wish  me  to  arrest  him,  or  not. 
You  wish  to  spare  the  girl,  his  wife.  Looking  at  it  im- 
partially, I  should  doubt  whether  you  would  spare  her 
by  sparing  him.  The  man's  a  scoundrel." 

"  There's  the  child,  remember." 

"  Yes.  I  was  forgetting  the  child.  Of  course. 
There's  the  child." 

"  If  you  arrest  us  all  and  send  us  home,  of  course 
her  people  will  look  after  her  on  arrival.  Is  that  a 
possible  solution  to  you  ?  " 

"  Between  you  and  me,  Margaret,  I  don't  want  to 
arrest  you  all.  If  I  do,  why,  there'll  be  a  scandal  here. 
1  The  Governor's  friends  proved  to  be  escaping  felons.' 
The  cry  will  be  everywhere.  I  don't  want  that.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  man's  a  scoundrel.  H'm.  It's  a 
pretty  problem." 

"  You  can  arrest  me  in  mistake  for  Stukeley.  How 
would  that  do  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  Governor,  shaking  his  head ;  "  that 
won't  do.  What  are  your  plans  for  the  lady  in  case  I 
don't  arrest  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  we  shall  have  to  leave  her  at  Jamaica 
after  a  month  or  two  in  Darien." 

"  Perhaps  she'll  be  better  off  there  than  in  England. 
Has  she  a  woman  with  her  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  don't,  in  your  heart,  wish  me  to  pro- 
ceed \ " 

"  No,  Howard ;  I  want  you  to  spare  her." 


232  CAPTAIN  MAEGARET 

"  Very  well,  then.  You  must  sail  this  night.  Sail 
directly  you  get  on  board." 

"  Thank  you,  Howard.  I  will.  You  won't  get  into 
trouble  with  the  Board  over  this  ?  " 

"  I  shall  say  that  you  crept  away  in  the  night.  No 
singing  at  the  capstan,  remember.  No  cheering.  If 
you're  not  gone  by  dawn  I'll  arrest  the  whole  pack  of 
you.  I  can't  do  more." 

"  I'm  very This  is  very  kind  of  you,  How- 
ard." 

"Kind?  A  kind  man  has  no  business  in  politics. 
I'm  shirking  my  duty." 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret,  with  a  sigh.  "  And  I'm 
pleading  with  you,  trying  to  make  you  shirk  it." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  the  Governor.  "  There's  the 
gong.  We'll  go  down  to  dinner.  By  the  way,  there's 
a  letter  for  you.  Where  did  I  put  it?  Here  it  is." 
He  handed  a  sealed  packet  to  Margaret,  who  glanced 
abstractly  at  the  seal,  and  then,  not  recognizing  the 
crest,  put  it  in  his  pocket,  and  followed  his  host  to  the 
door.  "  Honour,"  he  repeated  to  himself.  "  Honour. 
My  honour  is  a  smirched  rag.  A  smirched  rag." 

The  dining-room  was  a  long,  low,  bare  apartment. 
The  whitewashed  walls  were  hung  with  one  or  two  prints 
by  Diirer,  the  "  Adam  and  Eve,"  the  "  Justice,"  and 
11  The  Man  of  Sorrows,"  from  the  "  Lesser  Passion." 
The  table  was  heaped  with  a  deal  of  silver,  all  of  it  very 
crudely  designed.  The  dinner  was  mostly  of  fruit  and 
vegetables;  it  was  too  hot  for  meat.  The  wine  bottles 
lay  outside  the  window  in  jackets  of  wetted  flannel. 
Each  guest  had  a  palm  fan  at  his  side,  for  use  between 
the  courses. 

The  Governor  sat  at  the  end  of  the  table  with  the 
door  at  his  back.  Olivia  sat  next  to  him,  with  Margaret 
beside  her.  Mrs.  Prinsep  sat  next  to  Margaret,  with 


A  FAREWELL  DINNER  233 

Stukeley  on  her  right,  then  Perrin,  then  an  empty  seat 
directly  at  the  Governor's  left.  During  the  dinner 
Howard  asked  the  footman  if  Captain  Lewin  had  ar- 
rived. The  man  told  him,  no. 

"  Captain  Lewin  is  in  command  of  the  frigate  there," 
Howard  explained  to  Olivia.  "  I  asked  him  to  join  us, 
so  that  you  could  hear  the  news.  By  the  by,  I'm  sorry 
to  hear  you're  sailing." 

Olivia  noticed  that  he,  too,  looked  at  her  with  some- 
thing of  the  shrewd,  hard,  medical  gaze  with  which  Per- 
rin and  Cammock  sometimes  looked  at  her.  She  re- 
sented the  look  as  an  impertinence,  half  wondering  if 
there  was  something  strange  about  her  face  —  some  sud- 
den growth  of  eyelid  or  droop  of  hair. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  I'm  sorry  we're  going,  too,  for 
several  reasons.  But  I  hope  we  shall  meet  again  in 
England.  You  must  come  and  see  us  when  we're  set- 
tled there." 

"  That  will  be  delightful.  In  what  part  do  you  think 
of  settling  ? " 

"  In  Devon.     Near  a  place  called  Flaxley." 

"  Oh  yes.  Indeed.  Flaxley.  That's  near  the  sea. 
I  know  Flaxley,  Mrs.  Stukeley.  There's  a  beautiful 
old  house  there.  I  once  stayed  a  night  there.  What 
was  the  fellow's  name,  now  ? " 

"  Then  you  know  my  uncle.  Do  you  ?  Neston 
Pile." 

"  Pile.  Yes.  Pile.  Of  course.  So  he's  your 
uncle,  Mrs.  Stukeley  ?  What  a  fine  old  man  he  is." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  quiet  indifference.  "  He  is 
very  much  loved."  She  would  have  given  much  to  be 
back  at  Flaxley  sitting  in  the  great  hall  there.  A  Van- 
dyck  hung  in  the  hall,  the  portrait  of  Sir  Nicolas  Pile, 
her  great-uncle,  once  the  king's  standard-bearer,  who 
had  been  killed  in  the  fight  at  Naseby.  He  looked  down 


upon  the  hall  in  melancholy  honour,  a  noble  guardian, 
full  of  grave  pride,  helpful  to  those  who  sat  there. 
Howard's  words  gave  her  a  longing  to  see  that  austere, 
sweet,  thoughtful  face  looking  down  upon  her,  a  longing 
all  the  more  keen  for  the  knowledge  that  perhaps  she 
would  never  again  see  him,  now  that  her  uncle  had  been 
so  horrid  to  Tom.  The  pang  of  homesickness  went 
shrewdly  to  her  heart ;  but  she  sipped  her  wine,  her  face 
unchanged,  her  smile  ready. 

"  What  brought  you  to  Flaxley,  I  wonder  ? "  she 
added.  "  I  wonder  if  I  was  there  then." 

"  It  was  seven  or  eight  years  ago,"  said  Howard.  "  I 
had  to  go  there  about  some  Roman  coins.  I  collect 
antiques,  you  know.  Rather  a  dull  subject  for  you. 
Your  uncle  had  written  a  little  pamphlet  on  the  coins 
dug  up  at  Hurst's  Castle,  that  old  Roman  Camp  in 
Somerset." 

"  Yes.  He  used  to  collect  coins  then.  He'd  a  few 
very  rare  ones.  Were  you  there  in  the  summer  ?  Did 
you  see  the  rose-garden  ?  " 

"  On  a  slope,  somewhere  at  the  back,  rather  exposed  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I've  a  dim  recollection  of  it.  I  was  only  there  one 
night.  You  weren't  there  then  ?  " 

"  My  brothers  were  alive  then.  I  expect  I  was  with 
them." 

"  Is  that  old  gate-keeper  of  yours  alive  still  ?  An 
oldish  woman.  Rather  a  character  ?  " 

"  Old  Maggie  ?  Oh,  do  you  remember  old  Maggie  ? 
Poor  old  Maggie.  She's  dead  now.  There  was  a  ship- 
wreck on  the  rocks  beyond  Flaxley,  and  she  rowed  out 
to  the  wreck  with  her  idiot  son.  She  was  such  a  fine 
old  woman.  None  of  the  men  would  go  out ;  so  she  said 
she  would  go.  She  rowed  and  rowed.  There's  a  very 
strong  current  there,  too.  When  she  got  to  the  wreck 


A  FAREWELL  DINNER  235 

her  boat  was  smashed  against  the  side,  so  she  had  to 
stay  there  for  nearly  a  day,  I  think,  and  she  died  soon 
afterwards  from  the  exposure." 

"  Indeed.     She  impressed  me.     A  fierce  old  Roman." 

Perrin  looked  up  to  remark  that  the  courage  of  a 
woman  was  as  it  were  complementary  to  the  courage 
of  man.  That  women  did  things  which  men  could  not 
do ;  and  that  their  courage  was  on  the  whole  of  a  finer 
quality.  Mrs.  Prinsep,  who  may  perhaps  have  thought 
that  the  compliment  to  her  sex  was  designed  subtly  to 
please  her,  seemed  to  bridle. 

"  I  think  women  would  be  proud  to  hear  that,"  she 
said  contemptuously.  She  disliked  Perrin;  all  common 
natures  did. 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret.  "  A  woman's  courage  comes 
from  a  quality  of  soul.  A  man's  comes  more  from  a 
faculty  of  body.  You  can't  think  of  the  two  without 
feeling  that  in  the  woman  you  have  something  far  finer." 

"  They  squeal  if  they  see  a  mouse,"  said  Stukeley. 

"  Yes  ?  If  you  will  name  the  highest  flight  of  man's 
courage,  I  will  prove  to  you  that  at  that  point  woman's 
courage  begins." 

"  A  man's  courage  is  often  indifference,"  said  Perrin. 
"  When  I  was  nearly  drowned  once,  I  remember  think- 
ing, '  I'm  going  to  die.  Why  am  I  not  frightened  ? ' 
I  wasn't  frightened.  I  was  only  tired  of  swimming  and 
swimming,  with  the  water  against  me." 

"  You  skedaddled  from  that  dog  the  other  day,"  said 
Stukeley. 

"  What  dog  was  that,  Mr.  Stukeley  ?  "  Mrs.  Prinsep 
asked. 

"  Oh,"  said  Stukeley,  with  a  chuckle.  "  A  dog  that 
flounced  out  at  him  from  one  of  the  houses  here.  Good 
luck.  To  see  old  Pilly  run.  Did  he  get  you,  Pilly,  or 
did  you  get  up  the  tree  in  time  ? " 


236  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  I  was  in  time,"  said  Perrin,  flushing,  looking  very 
uncomfortable. 

"  Are  you  very  much  afraid  of  dogs,  Mr.  Perrin  ? " 
Mrs.  Prinsep  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  rudely.     "  So  are  you." 

At  this  moment  Captain  Lewin  entered,  so  that  the 
dicussion  came  to  an  end  before  it  had  well  begun,  like 
most  discussions  of  the  kind. 

Captain  Lewin  was  a  tall,  grey,  upright  man,  with  a 
sharp,  dictatorial  manner  that  was  somehow  not  author- 
itative, and  therefore  not  offensive.  He  entered  the 
room  with  his  hands  behind  his  back,  snapping  quickly 
from  the  nervous  strain  of  being  late.  Howard  greeted 
him  and  introduced  him.  He  sat  down  nervously  on 
his  host's  left,  looked  round  the  room  with  the  quick 
apprehension  of  an  animal,  much  as  he  would  have 
looked  aloft  on  coming  on  deck,  and  began  to  apologize 
for  his  lateness. 

"  I  dined  before  I  left  the  ship,"  he  said.  "  That 
rascal,  my  purser,  kept  me.  Very  good  claret,  your  Ex- 
cellency. Who's  the  man  next  but  one  on  my  left  ?  I 
seem  to  know  his  face." 

"  Stukeley.  Thomas  Stukeley,  husband  of  the  lady 
here,"  the  Governor  answered  in  a  low  voice. 

"  I  seem  to  have  seen  him  somewhere.  Wasn't  he  in 
the  rising  in  Beverley's  time  ?  " 

"No,  captain." 

"  Reminds  me  of  that  beauty  who  led  us  such  a  dance 
up  the  Delaware." 

"Oh,  George  Bond?" 

"  Yes.  He  was  a  beauty.  I  wonder  what's  become 
of  George  Bond  ?  " 

"  Yes.     He  kept  us  all  alive  here." 

"  You  have  just  come  from  England  ?  "  Olivia  asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  captain.     "  We  sailed  at  the  end  of 


A  FAREWELL  DINNER  237 

July.  Your  Excellency,  I  wouldn't  go  down  the  river 
with  such  another  convoy.  Not  if  the  King  knighted 
me." 

Olivia  was  not  quite  sure  of  the  technical  terms,  so 
she  answered  nothing,  but  smiled  a  smile  of  interested 
sympathy.  She  remembered  suddenly  that  perhaps  he 
had  brought  mails.  She  asked  him. 

"Mails?  Yes,  madam.  Yes.  Yes.  Yes.  Oh  I've 
brought  the  mails.  They're  in  his  Excellency's  hands." 

"  None  for  you,  Mrs.  Stukeley,  I'm  afraid,"  said 
Howard.  "  Captain  Margaret  had  one." 

"  Captain  Margaret  ?  "  said  Lewin  quickly.  "  Do 
you  know  a  Captain  Margaret  here  ?  " 

Stukeley  pushed  back  his  chair,  and  seemed  to  fumble 
in  his  pocket.  Margaret  looked  up  quickly  from  the 
cracking  of  a  nut. 

"  I  am  he,"  he  said  quietly. 

"  You  are  he,  are  you  ?  I  missed  your  name  just 
now,"  said  Lewin,  putting  his  hand  within  his  coat. 

Perrin  pushed  back  his  chair  so  that  his  body  covered 
Lewin  from  Stukeley. 

"  Ah,"  continued  Lewin,  in  his  hard  voice  with  its 
ring  of  jocularity,  "  I've  a  letter  for  you.  I  was  to 
deliver  it  into  your  hands.  You've  got  friends  at  Court, 
I  think,  sir.  It  came  to  me  through  the  Secretary." 

Margaret  kept  a  steady  face,  not  daring  to  glance  at 
Stukeley;  for  a  wink  to  a  blind  horse  may  be  as  dis- 
astrous as  a  blow.  His  first  thought  was,  "  here  it 
ends  " ;  his  second  thought  told  him  that  Perrin  was 
giving  the  show  away,  by  pushing  back  his  chair;  his 
third  thought  took  in  the  possibilities  of  the  pistol.  He 
filled  his  wine-glass  composedly,  so  that  he  might  have 
a  missile  handy,  then  poured  a  little  claret  into  Olivia's 
glass. 


238  CAPTAIN  MAEGAEET 

"  Friends  at  Court,  Captain  Lewin  ? "  he  answered. 
"  No.  I  don't  think  so.  Let  me  see  this  mysterious 
letter."  A  sudden  impulse  urged  him  to  keep  Olivia's 
eyes  from  her  husband's  face.  "  Howard,"  he  added. 
"  you  never  showed  Mrs.  Stukeley  those  experiments  of 
yours  on  the  maize-ear.  Aren't  those  some  of  the  maize- 
ears  just  behind  you  ?  " 

"  Ah  yes,  Mrs.  Stukeley,"  said  Howard,  reaching  be- 
hind him  to  the  jar.  "  Let  me  explain  them  to  you." 

Lewin  selected  a  sealed  packet  from  his  pocket-book 
and  handed  it  across  the  table.  Olivia,  reaching  out 
her  hand  to  pass  the  letter  to  Margaret,  saw  the  super- 
scription. 

"  Why,"  she  cried,  "  it's  from  Uncle  Nestor.  How 
strange.  We  were  just  now  talking  of  him." 

"  So  is  this  Sir  Nestor's  hand  ? "  said  Margaret, 
putting  the  letter  to  one  side.  He  asked  because  the 
letter  in  his  pocket  was  addressed  in  the  same  hand. 

"  Yes,"  said  Olivia,  looking  down  at  it.  "  Aren't 
you  going  to  read  it  ?  " 

"  Eead  it,"  said  Stukeley  in  a  strange  voice. 

Howard  laid  down  his  maize-cobs.  The  letter  lay  at 
Margaret's  side ;  everybody  looked  at  it.  Mrs.  Prinsep, 
in  her  shrewd  Scotch  way,  glanced  at  her  neighbours, 
and  saw  that  there  was  something  wrong.  "  There 
is  something  wrong  somewhere,"  she  said  to  herself. 
Olivia,  looking  at  Perrin  and  at  her  husband,  wondered 
if  the  heat  had  been  too  much  for  them.  Their  faces 
were  so  very  curious.  It  struck  her  that  the  talk  had 
gone  to  pieces.  The  host,  waiting  for  her  head  to  turn, 
so  that  he  might  expound  his  new  science  to  her,  held 
his  peace. 

"  Everybody's  waiting  for  you,  Charles,"  she  added. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Prinsep,  guessing  that  Margaret 


A  FAREWELL  DINNER  239 

disliked  Olivia's  prompting.  "  Captain  Margaret  will 
tell  us  all  the  news." 

Captain  Margaret  asked  Mrs.  Prinsep  if  he  might 
hand  her  a  sapadillo. 

"  I'm  anxious  to  hear  the  news,"  she  answered. 
"  No,  thank  you." 

"  Oh,"  said  Margaret  lightly,  as  he  put  the  letter  in 
his  pocket,  "  I  won't  read  the  letter  during  dinner. 
I've  been  meaning  to  ask  you,  Mrs.  Prinsep,  how  you 
keep  domestic  servants  here,  with  such  a  scarcity  of 
white  women." 

"  I'd  rather  hear  what  the  letter  says,"  she  answered, 
"  than  talk  about  servants.  We  get  so  little  news  here 
from  England." 

"  I  don't  understand  the  craving  for  news,"  said  Per- 
rin.  "  One  carries  the  world  in  one's  head." 

"  You  must  want  a  big  head  to  do  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Prinsep. 

"  It  doesn't  matter  what  size  it  is,  so  long  as  it's 
empty.  Why  read  letters  and  gazettes  when  one  can 
read  imaginative  work  ?  " 

Mrs.  Prinsep  remarked  with  bitterness  that  she  knew 
not  what  imaginative  work  meant,  unless  it  was  a  kind 
of  thing  which  she  disliked  very  much.  She  half  rose, 
catching  Olivia's  eye.  The  two  ladies  left  the  room  — 
Mrs.  Prinsep  to  abuse  Perrin  and  to  apply  crudely  an 
examination;  Olivia  to  suffer  from  home-sickness, 
thinking  of  her  uncle's  letter.  Mrs.  Prinsep  could  draw 
little  from' her ;  for  Mrs.  Prinsep,  while  suspecting  some- 
thing wrong,  naturally  suspected  a  woman  of  finer 
beauty  than  her  own  of  being  a  party  to  it.  Her  theory 
was  that  Olivia  had  run  away  from  her  home,  and  that, 
being  beautiful,  she  was  possibly  not  correctly  married. 
She  liked  Stukeley;  but  she  had  her  duty  to  herself  to 
consider.  She  put  Olivia  through  a  conventional  cate- 


240  CAPTAIN  MAEGAKET 

chism,  in  the  course  of  which  she  asked  for  particulars 
of  the  wedding.  Olivia,  seeing  her  drift,  replied  coldly, 
in  monosyllables. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  dining-room,  over  the  wine,  Stuke- 
ley  badgered  Margaret  to  read  the  letter. 

"  Read  it,"  he  kept  saying.  "  Read  it.  Let's  hear 
what's  in  it." 

Howard  wondered  at  his  tone;  but  as  he  knew  some- 
thing of  Stukeley's  affairs,  he  drew  Lewin  out  of  the 
room,  so  that  the  voyagers  might  read  the  letter  to- 
gether undisturbed.  When  he  had  gone,  Margaret 
opened  the  packet  brought  by  Lewin.  Stukeley  picked 
up  his  wine-glass  and  crossed  over  towards  Margaret, 
so  that  he,  too,  might  read. 

"  What  do  you  want,  Stukeley  ?  "  Margaret  asked  him. 

"  I  want  to  read  that  letter,  of  course.  It's  about 
me." 

"  Do  you  generally  read  the  letters  of  others  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  read  this." 

"  Are  you  ?  "  Margaret  looked  at  him  coolly,  finished 
his  letter,  and  started  to  read  the  other.  As  he  had 
expected,  the"  letters  were  alike.  One  had  been  brought 
by  a  merchantman,  the  other  by  the  man-of-war.  The 
letter  was  that  saddest  of  all  letters,  the  letter  of  the 
old  man  who  asks  humbly,  knowing  the  selfishness  of 
youth.  That  the  old  man  wrote  without  hope  seemed 
evident  to  Margaret  from  the  appeal  he  made  to  chival- 
rous sentiment.  "  I  am  confident  to  write  to  you,"  ran 
the  un-confident  words,  "  though  we  are  little  ac- 
quainted. I  had  the  honour  to  serve  with  your  father 
more  than  forty  years  ago."  Then  there  came  a  re- 
quest that  Captain  Margaret  would  cause  Stukeley  to  be 
arrested  and  brought  home  to  trial,  so  that  Olivia  might 
again  be  under  his  care.  There  was  also  a  moving 
prayer  that  he,  the  son  of  that  old  brother-in-arms  who 


A  FABEWELL  DINNER  241 

had  ridden  with  the  writer  at  Newbury  forty  odd  years 
before,  would  let  Olivia  know  what  her  husband  had 
done.  She  was  ignorant  of  her  husband's  nature;  but 
in  England  it  was  said  that  she  was  not  so  ignorant. 
In  England  her  honour  seemed  smirched,  for  there  were 
some  who  saw  in  her  flight  the  ruse  of  a. criminal  and 
his  doxy.  It  was  right  that  she  should  know  this,  and 
very  right  that  her  husband  should  stand  his  trial,  so 
that  their  honour  might  be  cleared.  The  letter  was  bit- 
ter reading  to  Margaret.  It  made  him  feel  that  he  had 
stained  Olivia's  honour  in  staining  his  own,  and  all  for 
the  sake  of  a  ruffian  incapable  of  feeling  the  sacrifice. 
If  the  letter  had  come  before  his  interview  with  Howard 
he  would  have  pleaded  differently,  child  or  no  child. 
He  looked  grave,  helped  himself  to  more  wine,  and 
handed  a  letter  to  Perrin. 

"  What's  the  old  boy  say  ?  "  said  Stukeley. 

"  That  is  surely  not  your  business,"  Margaret  an- 
swered. 

"  I'll  make  it  my  business.  It  concerns  me.  Isn't 
it  all  about  me  ?  Eh  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Isn't  it  ?  I'll  soon  see.  Now  then,  Pilly.  Hand 
over." 

"  Leave  Edward  alone,"  said  Margaret.  "  The  let- 
ter's a  private  letter  to  myself.  I  prefer  that  you  shall 
not  read  it,  Stukeley." 

"Shall  not.  Eh?  Blood.  Eh?  Shall  not.  Give 
it  to  me,  Pilly." 

"  Sit  down,  Stukeley,"  said  Margaret. 

"  Don't  you  touch  me,  Stukeley,"  said  Perrin. 

"  Give  me  that  letter."  He  was  within  snatching 
distance;  but  Perrin  twisted  aside,  so  that  he  missed 
his  mark.  He  sprawled  across  Perrin  trying  to  reach 
his  outstretched  hand. 


242  CAPTAIN  MARGAKET 

"  Get  out,  you  beast,"  said  Perrin,  thrusting  with  his 
elbow. 

"  Temper,  eh  ?  "  said  Stukeley.  He  feinted  quickly 
for  Perrin's  nose;  Perrin's  outstretched  hand  flew  back 
to  guard ;  the  letter  was  seized  with  a  whoop  of  triumph. 
Stukeley  glanced  contemptuously  at  Perrin,  and  began 
to  read  the  letter,  as  Margaret  quietly  walked  round  the 
table  to  him. 

Stukeley  saw  him  coming,  and  kicked  Mrs.  Prinsep's 
chair  across  his  shins,  checking  his  progress  for  an  in- 
stant. As  he  kicked  the  chair,  Perrin  dashed  at  him, 
to  snatch  the  paper.  Stukeley  flung  him  aside  heavily, 
laughing  at  the  fun  of  the  tussle. 

"  You  see  what  you  get,  little  Pilly,"  he  said.  "  You 
see  what  you  get.  Eh  ?  " 

Margaret  set  aside  the  chair  and  advanced  upon  him. 
"  Now,  Stukeley,"  he  said,  "  that  letter." 

Stukeley  backed  a  pace  to  avoid  him.  Perrin,  recov- 
ering, felt  blindly  along  the  table  for  a  knife.  At  this 
moment  the  door  opened,  and  Olivia  entered. 

"  I've  come  to  ask  if  I  might  read  the  letter.  Uncle 
Nestor's  letter,  Charles,"  she  said. 

Perrin,  in  a  voice  which  shook  with  the  hysteria,  of 
wrath,  told  her  that  she  had  better  ask  her  husband. 

"  There  it  is,"  said  Margaret  quietly,  indicating 
Stukeley. 

Olivia  glanced  at  the  three  men  with  surprise,  even 
anxiety.  Stukeley,  who  had  not  yet  read  the  letter, 
looked  to  Margaret  for  a  hint  that  the  letter  might  be 
shown. 

"  There  it  is,"  Margaret  repeated. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  three  men  ? "  Olivia 
asked.  "  You  were  fighting." 

"  Pilly  gets  so  excited,"  Stukeley  said. 

"  What  were  you  doing,  Tom  ?  " 


A  FAREWELL  DINNER  243 

"  Reading  the  letter,"  Perrin  said. 

"  What  is  in  the  letter  ?  " 

"  There  it  is,"  said  Margaret. 

Olivia  walked  softly  to  her  husband.  "  May  I  see 
the  letter  ?  "  she  said,  her  eyes  full  of  tears.  "  I  may 
read  the  letter,  Charles  ?  " 

"  Yes.     I  wish  you  to  read  it." 

"  There  it  is,"  said  Stukeley,  handing  it  to  her. 
"  What  did  you  two  asses  make  such  a  fuss  for  ?  "  He 
sat  down,  helped  himself  to  wine,  and  lighted  a  roll  of 
tobacco-leaf,  a  kind  of  primitive  cigar.  Between  the 
puffs,  he  glanced  at  the  two  men,  and  at  Olivia's  face. 
Something  in  Olivia's  face  attracted  him:  the  eyes 
seemed  to  burn ;  the  eyes  seemed  to  be  her  intelligence, 
now  starting  outward.  He  looked  at  Margaret,  won- 
dering if  he  had  done  rightly  to  give  the  letter;  but 
Margaret  stood  there,  grave,  courteous,  self-controlled, 
his  face  a  mask.  Olivia  read  the  letter,  turned  the  sheet 
to  see  if  a  postscript  had  been  added,  then  read  it 
through  a  second  time,  turning  very  white. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  she  said  slowly.  "  Have  you 
read  this,  Tom?" 

"  No,  Livy.     Let's  see  it." 

"  I  suppose  I  may  show  it  to  Tom,  Charles  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Olivia." 

"  You've  read  the  letter,  Charles  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Olivia." 

"  Well.  I  don't  understand.  What  is  Uncle  Nestor 
thinking,  Tom  ? " 

Stukeley  read  the  letter,  with  a  desire  to  have  Mar- 
garet's throat  in  his  hands,  squeezing  the  life  out  of 
him.  He  looked  savagely  at  Margaret.  "  You  swine, 
to  let  me  in  for  this,"  he  thought.  Then  he  became  con- 
scious that  Olivia  was  closely  watching  him. 

"  Strange,"  he  said,  puckering  his  brows.     He  took 


244  CAPTAIN  MABGARET 

a  gulp  of  wine  and  looked  at  Margaret.  "  Hadn't  we 
better  go  aboard  ?  "  he  added.  "  It's  not  a  thing  we 
can  discuss  here.  Old  Howard  might  come  in." 

"  But  we  can't  go  aboard,  Tom.     The  ship  is  sailing." 

"  All  our  things  are  on  board." 

"  Yes.  But  we  must  get  them.  We  must  go  home. 
You.  see  that,  Tom,  don't  you?  We  must  go  home  to 
clear  our  names." 

"  We  can't  go,  Livy,  for  the  reason  I  told  you  before." 

"  They're  saying  these  things  about  us,  though." 

"  Who  is  ?  Some  tea-drinking  old  maids  who've  got 
at  your  uncle  Nestor.  He  doesn't  like  me,  as  you  know, 
so  naturally  he  believes  them." 

"  But,  Tom,  what  could  have  started  the  old  maids, 
as  you  call  them  ?  " 

"  Our  hurried  leaving,  of  course.     What  else  ?  " 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  turning  very  pale,  as  though  a  bitter 
thought  had  come  to  her.  "  Charles,  Charles:  Oh, 
why  did  not  Uncle  Nestor  write  to  me,  instead  of  you  ? 
He  need  not  have  told  you  the  scandal." 

Margaret,  who  had  gone  to  the  window  with  Perrin, 
to  look  out  over  the  darkened  harbour,  while  the  hus- 
•band  and  wife  talked  together,  now  turned  gravely  to- 
wards her,  too  sad  to  answer. 

"  I  didn't  mean  that,  Charles."  She  looked  from  one 
face  to  another,  searching  for  a  key  to  the  puzzle,  for 
a  way  back  to  the  peace  of  ten  minutes  ago. 

"  What  were  you  doing,  Charles,  when  I  came  in  just 
now?" 

"  We  were  struggling  for  the  letter,  Olivia." 

"  You  had  snatched  the  letter,  Tom  ?  " 

"  From  me,"  said  Perrin. 

"I  did  not  wish  your  husband  to  read  it,  Olivia," 
Margaret  added. 

"  He  told  me  it  concerned  me,"  said  Stukeley,  "  and 


A  FAKEWELL  DINNER  245 

naturally,  in  a  playful  way,  I  snatched  it.  In  a  playful 
way." 

"  I  told  you  no  such  thing,"  said  Margaret. 

"  And  yet,  Charles,  you  say  you  did  not  wish  Tom, 
my  husband,  to  read  it  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  wish  it." 

"  And  you  could  hand  it  on  to  Edward  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  But  I  don't  understand.  And  you  wished  me  to 
read  it?" 

"  Yes,  Olivia.     I  wished  you  to  read  it." 

"  We  can't  discuss  it  here,  Livy,"  Stukeley  said. 
"  Old  Howard  may  come  in.  Let's  go  on  board." 

"  Tom,  we  can't  go  on  board.  I  can't  enter  that  ship 
again.  They've  been  calling  us  that  for  three  months. 
Do'  think  what  it  means,  dear." 

"  Only  cackle,"  he  answered  sullenly.  "  I'm  not 
going  to  alter  my  plans  for  a  little  old  wives'  cackle." 

"  You  think  it's  only  that,  Tom  ?  " 

"  Good  luck.     Yes." 

"  But  let's  go  home  and  put  an  end  to  it.  If  we 
don't  it  may  grow.  It  may " 

The  door  opened.  Howard  entered.  He  looked 
round  them  with  his  air  of  weary  boredom. 

"  Captain  Margaret,"  he  said  coldly,  "  your  boat 
is  waiting.  Your  captain  is  anxious  not  to  lose  the 
tide." 

"  Well,  we'll  go  on  board  then.  Edward,  fetch 
Olivia's  wraps." 

"No,"  Olivia  said.  "No.  Not  that.  We're  not 
going,  Charles.  We're  going  home.  Oh,  this  letter  is 
like  a. fire." 

"  Come,  Edward,"  said  Margaret,  "  we'll  be  getting 
our  cloaks." 

"  I'll  get  Olivia's  things,"  Stukeley  said. 


246  CAPTAIN  MAEGARET 

"  Tom,"  she  cried,  "  you  aren't  going  to  run  away  like 
this,  letting  them  think  you  guilty?  You  can't,  Tom. 
Go  back.  No.  No.  I  can't  let  you.  Dear,  we  must 
face  this.  We  must  go  home  and  face  this." 

Margaret  was  at  the  door  again,  hooking  the  heavy 
silver  cloak-clasp  at  his  throat.  He  looked  at  her  piti- 
fully, saying  nothing.  He  wished  that  he  could  help 
her,  for  the  sake  of  her  little  one;  but  the  letter  had 
struck  a  jangle  in  him,  and  Stukeley  had  made  him  lose 
his  temper.  He  thought  that  he  had  gone  too  far  now, 
that  he  had  shown  Stukeley  to  be  guilty.  He  could  not 
bring  himself  to  speak.  He  was  worn  out  with  the  long 
anxiety  of  love.  He  was  tired.  Stukeley  must  fight 
his  own  battles,  tell  his  own  lies,  maintain  his  own  de- 
ceptions. He  was  too  weary  of  it  all  to  be  sad,  even 
when,  after  shaking  the  Governor's  hand  and  thanking 
him  for  his  kindness,  he  turned  to  Olivia,  with  his  hand 
outstretched. 

"  Well,  Olivia,"  he  said. 

"  Well,"  she  said.     "  What  d'you  want,  Charles  ?  " 

"  Are  you  going  home  ?  "  he  asked  bluntly. 

"  Of  course  I'm  going  home.  Do  you  think  that. 
Do  you  think  I  could  live  longer  in  that  ship,  eating,  and 
lying  down,  and  watching  the  sea,  with  this  being  said 
of  me?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Stukeley,  "  I  think  you  could.  Put  on 
your  wraps,  Livy,  and  come  on." 

"  Tom.     Tom,  dear." 

"  I  would  go,  Mrs.  Stukeley,  if  I  were  you,"  said  the 
Governor.  "  You  couldn't  leave  the  colony  here  much 
before  November." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  she  answered.  "  But  I  don't 
think  you  know  the  circumstances." 

"  I've  discussed  them  with  Captain  Margaret,"  he 
answered. 


A  FAREWELL  DINNER  247 

"  You  discussed  them,  Charles  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Margaret  said.  "  Howard  gives  good  advice, 
Olivia." 

"  I  don't  think  my  wife  wants  your  advice,"  said 
Stukeley.  "  Come,  Livy.  Here  are  your  wraps. 
Come  on.  Don't  let's  have  a  scene." 

"  Tom,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hands,  swaying  a 
little,  her  eyes  blind  with  tears.  "  Tom,  I  beseech  you, 
let's  go  home.  What  is  your  pledged  word  to  —  to  what 
they  are  saying  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  keep  my  word,"  he  answered  brutally. 
"  Good-bye,  Howard.  Thanks  for  the  pie-crust.  I 
hope,  next  time  I  see  you,  you'll  have  some  decent  wine. 

Your  port  is So  long."     He  turned  to  the  other 

men.  "  Come  on,  Pilly.  Come,  Maggy."  As  he 
walked  to  the  door,  he  looked  again  at  Howard.  "  So 
long,  me  lord,"  he  said. 

"  Good-bye,  Mr.  Stukeley,"  said  Howard. 

"  Shake  hands." 

"  No,  thank  you." 

Stukeley  looked  at  him  with  some  amusement. 

"  Oxford  man.  Eh ! "  he  said,  and  passed  out. 
Olivia  stood  swaying,  looking  after  him,  calling  to  him, 
through  her  tears. 

"  Will  you  come,  Olivia  ?  "  Margaret  asked  her  gently. 

"  Come  with  you,  Charles  ?  With  you  ?  You  be- 
lieve Tom  guilty." 

"  Olivia,"  Perrin  said,  "  this  goes  round  your  throat, 
doesn't  it?  Then,  here's  your  glove.  You  mustn't 
forget  your  glove."  He  helped  her  with  her  things, 
evidently  deeply  pained. 

"  Thank  you,  dear,"  she  said,  speaking  as  one  stunned. 

"  Take  my  arm,"  Perrin  whispered.  "  Let's  get  into 
the  fresh  air." 

She  took  a  stumbling  step  forward,  her  hand  on  Per- 


248  CAPTAIN  MAEGAEET 

rin's  arm,  then  paused,  and  faced  Margaret.  "  You 
think,  Charles.  You  think,  because.  Because  I'm  not 
very  happy.  That  I  shall  not  notice.  But  I  see.  Oh, 
I  see  so  well.  You  wish  to  poison  me  against  Tom. 
You  wish  me  to  think.  That.  That.  Him  guilty." 

"  Quiet,  Margaret,"  said  Howard.  "  Mrs.  Stukeley, 
it's  my  duty  to  tell  you  that  your  husband  is  guilty. 
Better  now  than  later,"  he  added  to  Margaret  in  a  low 
voice.  "  She  can't  have  two  scenes  like  this.  It'd  kill 
her.  It  is  true,  Mrs.  Stukeley,"  he  continued.  "  If  he 
returns  to  England,  he  will  be  hanged.  Now  you  two, 
take  her  out.  She's  stunned.  Take  her  out  before  the 
flunkies  notice.  Get  to  sea.  Don't  wait.  Into  the 
boat  with  her.  Get  to  sea.  Get  to  the  devil." 

The  two  men  supported  the  dazed  creature  to  the 
boat.  Howard  watched  them  from  his  pleasaunce,  with 
an  air  of  weary  boredom.  "  Like  clubbing  a  kitten,"  he 
said  to  himself.  "  But  nervous  women  are.  They  are." 

He  watched  them  pass  away  into  the  night,  the  oars 
grunting  through  the  darkness,  the  voice  of  the  coxswain 
sounding  very  clear.  He  noted  it  as  a  sign  of  rain. 
Afterwards  he  heard  the  feet  tramping  round  the  cap- 
stan, amid  yells  and  screams  and  pistol-shots.  "  There 
are  the  men  of  war.  The  buccaneers,"  he  said  cynically. 
"  My  reputation's  gone.  I  forgot  them."  He  stood 
amid  his  flowers,  watching  the  fireflies,  waiting  for  the 
end.  He  saw  dimly  the  jib  of  the  great  ship  cloaking  a 
star.  Then  among  the  screams  of  many  drunken  men, 
with  laughter,  and  shots,  and  oaths,  the  topsails  jolted 
up,  the  parrels  groaning,  to  a  ditty  about  a  girl  in  Para- 
dise Street.  The  roaring  chorus  woke  the  ships  in 
harbour.  The  crews  answered,  cheering,  beating  their 
bells.  The  bell  of  the  Broken  Heart  was  rung  like  the 
alarm  of  fire.  He  smiled  to  hear  them,  repeating  the 
phrases  he  had  planned  for  his  official  report.  "  She 


A  FAREWELL  DINNER  249 

stole  away,  unnoticed,  in  the  night,"  he  repeated.  "  So 
that  I  could  not  give  effect  to  the  Honourable  Board's 
command."  "  It's  getting  chilly,"  he  said.  "  I  must 
go  in.  She's  gone.  She's  out  of  sight."  From  very 
far  away  came  the  words  of  a  chorus,  the  cat-fall  chorus, 
sung  by  men  so  drunk  that  they  had  to  take  the  cat-fall 
to  the  capstan :  - 

Blow,  my  bullies,  blow 

For  Springer's  Key,  ay  O. 

There's  plenty  of  gold, 

So  I've  been  told, 

On  the  banks  of  the  Rio  Diablo. 

It  was  the  last  of  her  farewells.  Howard  went  in- 
doors, to  his  game  of  cribbage  with  Mrs.  Prinsep. 
"  They  have  gone  to  found  an  empire,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "  That  song  is  an  imperial  hymn.  Men  of  the 
Breed.  Eh?" 


THE   LANDFALL 

"  We  are  arrived  among  the  blessed  islands, 
Where  every  wind  that  rises  blows  perfumes, 
And  every  breath  of  air  is  like  an  incense; 
The  treasure  of  the  sun  dwells  here." 

The  Island  Princess. 

"  This  new  come  Captain 
Hath  both  a  ship  and  men." 

The  Sea  Voyage. 

THE  Broken  Heart  made  a  poor  passage.  The 
eighteen  hundred  miles  of  sea  between  the 
Capes  and  the  Samballoes  were  dragged  through 
wearily,  in  calms,  in  light  airs,  in  head  winds,  during 
six  weeks  of  torment.  Through  the  Florida  Channel, 
across  a  sea  of  brass;  through  the  Yucatan  Channel, 
hugging  the  Cuban  side ;  then  launching  out,  past  Grand 
Cayman,  past  Providence,  she  rolled  and  drove,  foul 
with  her  months  at  sea.  Her  gilt  was  battered  off,  her 
paint  peeled ;  her  once  white  decks  were  crossed  with  tar 
marks,  where  the  seam-tar,  sticking  to  shoes,  had  been 
impressed  crosswise  as  the  seamen  walked.  An  awning 
was  over  her  poop.  Her  boys  splashed  her  decks  con- 
tinually with  salt  water.  The  men  about  decks  did  their 
work  languidly.  At  night  they  lay  among  the  booms, 
sheltered  from  the  dew,  sleeping  in  their  watches,  their 
eyes  covered  lest  the  moon  should  blast  them. 

A  ship  driving  to  the  south,  with  all  her  sails  set,  her 
side  a  little  bowed,  whitening  a  line  along  her  fo'c's'le, 

250 


THE  LANDFALL  251 

is  beautiful  to  see,  noble,  an  image  of  wonder.  She 
should  be  allowed  to  pass,  swaying  her  beauty  in  a 
rhythm ;  for  beauty  is  enough ;  one  should  not  question 
beauty.  If  one  question,  then  in  that  stately  ship  may 
be  found  a  hell.  Men  mutinous,  officers  overdriven, 
boys  in  misery,  the  captain  drunk ;  wasted  men  forward, 
flying  from  justice;  broken  men  aft,  carrying  their  in- 
competence to  other  lands,  to  breed  it  there  unchecked ; 
the  rigging  rotten,  the  sails  threadbare,  all  the  hull  of 
the  ship  in  outcry,  a  decay,  a  fraud;  down  in  the  hold 
a  fire  smouldering,  a  little  red  glow,  a  fireball,  not  flame 
yet,  waiting,  charring  the  beams,  blackening  in  the  bales, 
till  the  wind  fan  it  to  a  crackling  triumph,  to  a  blaze, 
a  mastery,  amid  the  screams  of  men,  amid  death.  Even 
such  a  ship  was  the  Broken  Heart,  as  she  drove  on  to 
the  south,  her  sails  slatting.  Within  her  were  many 
tortured  hearts,  each  heart  a  chamber  in  hell,  in  the  hell 
of  the  wicked  or  the  weak,  where  the  prisoned  soul 
atoned,  or  added  to  the  account  to  be  paid  later.  At  the 
galley  door,  waiting  for  the  cook  to  let  them  light  their 
pipes,  their  one  pleasure,  the  seamen  watched  the  gentry, 
envying  them,  talking  bitterly  of  them,  angry  at  the 
world's  injustice  to  themselves,  angry  at  the  ease  which 
they  would  lack,  though  they  lived  to  be  old  men,  always 
working  hard. 

Of  all  the  ship's  company,  Olivia  was  the  most  to  be 
pitied,  for  she  was  in  the  worst  hell.  Her  soul  had 
been  bruised  in  the  stalk;  all  that  made  life  for  her 
had  been  taken  from  her  violently.  She  could  not  think. 
When  she  rose  up  an  image  rose  up  with  her.  If  she 
shut  her  eyes,  it  was  there;  if  she  looked  out  over  the 
sea,  it  was  there  still:  the  image  of  the  room  ashore; 
the  fruit  plates,  the  smell  of  wine,  the  men  standing 
guiltily,  the  sheet  of  creased  letter,  with  its  fine,  tremu- 
lous writing.  All  of  it  she  saw.  It  was  always  with 


252  CAPTAIN  MAKGAEET 

her.  When  she  lay  down  it  was  there ;  when  she  slept 
it  was  heavy  upon  her,  like  the  trance  of  a  sick  man. 
Sometimes,  in  spite  of  her  will,  against  her  nature,  it 
played  itself  over  to  her  in  her  mind,  like  a  farce,  a 
stupid  farce,  ending  in  tragedy,  in  one  stunning  blow, 
crushing  out  sense,  as  it  had  crushed  her  in  life.  Her 
husband  would  be  there,  rude  and  common  —  rude  to 
her,  common  before  all  those  men  —  stripping  away  the 
cloaks  her  love  had  wrapped  about  him.  Her  husband, 
the  flaming  young  love,  the  man  she  had  chosen,  was 
before  her,  acting  as  she  had  once  seen  a  drunken  man 
act  when  dragged  by  his  wife  out  of  a  beer-shop.  She 
had  loved  that,  given  herself  to  that.  Then  Howard's 
words,  clubbing  home  the  meaning  of  her  husband's 
rudeness.  That  horrible  flash  of  insight,  of  intuition, 
which  made  the  guilt  apparent ;  that  was  harder  to  bear 
than  Howard's  words,  more  terrible,  now  that  it  re- 
turned to  her.  All  along  the  memories  of  her  married 
life  were  headlands,  promontories,  projecting  blacknesses, 
unexplained,  irritating ;  the  unanswered  questions  which 
had  puzzled  her.  Thus  and  thus  her  husband  had  acted 
in  the  past,  queerly,  she  had  thought,  even  then,  not  as 
she  would  have  had  him  act,  not  as  a  knight  would  have 
acted,  not  as  the  men  she  had  known  would  have  acted. 
The  acts  had  puzzled  her,  they  had  frightened  her; 
but  she  had  explained  them,  she  had  told  herself  that 
men  were  different,  and  that  she  loved  this  man.  Now 
there  came  a  light,  a  sudden  meteor.  The  black  capes 
and  headlands  glared  out  upon  her,  lit  up,  one  after 
the  other,  in  a  baleful  vista,  a  marching,  illuminated 
army  of  witnesses,  glaring  out  his  guilt,  one  after  the 
other,  day  after  day,  night  after  night,  a  sleepless  com- 
pany. They  seemed  to  shout  to  her,  tossing  the  words 
one  from  the  other,  in  her  disordered  mind,  "  If  he  re- 
turns to  England,  he  will  be  hanged."  He  had  said 


THE  LAXDFALL  253 

that  he  had  loved  her ;  but  that  seemed  ages  ago ;  and  he 
had  tricked  her  into  this,  deceived  her  at  every  turn, 
lied  to  her,  cajoled  others  into  lying  to  her,  all  the  time 
amusing  himself,  laughing,  pretending,  a  common  thing, 
a  man  with  a  mind  like  a  footman's.  At  first,  nerving 
herself,  she  had  tried  to  talk  with  him,  willing  to  forgive, 
only  asking,  for  her  own  part,  an  explanation.  She 
would  have  been  content  with  that.  She  would  have 
been  almost  happy  had  he  come  to  her  like  an  erring  boy, 
asking  her  to  count  him  merely  that.  She  had  spoken 
to  him  in  her  cabin  that  night,  pleading  with  him,  kneel- 
ing to  him,  while  the  drunkards  on  deck  made  sail.  Her 
whole  world  had  lain  in  ruins;  she  had  thought  that 
nothing  more  could  hurt  her;  but  when  she  spoke  the 
ruins  flew  about  her,  wounding  her,  cutting  her  to  the 
quick.  He  had  answered  her  brutally.  His  answer 
had  come,  as  it  were,  set  to  the  music  of  the  drunkards 
above.  It  would  not  out  of  her  head.  All  her  nerves 
shook  with  it,  as  though  the  blow  struck  her  in  her  face. 
He  had  sworn  at  her,  jeered  at  her,  called  her  a  lump 
of  cold  batter,  told  her  to  get  to  the  devil,  told  her  that 
he  was  sick  of  the  sight  of  her,  that  he  had  married  her 
for  her  money,  that  if  she  gave  him  any  more  of  her 
canting  preaching  he'd  hit  her  one  that  she'd  remember. 
Later  in  the  night,  as  she  lay  crying  at  his  side,  he  bade 
her  for  God's  sake  to  stop  snivelling,  so  that  he  might 
get  to  sleep.  As  she  could  not  stop,  he  had  arisen, 
telling  her  that  she  might  cry  herself  sick,  but  that  he 
was  going  to  Mrs.  Inigo,  a  woman  who  wasn't  quite 
such  a  cold  poultice.  She  had  not  stopped  him.  She 
could  not  stop  him.  He  had  gone  from  her;  leaving 
her  life  too  empty  for  her  to  wish  even  to  kill  herself. 

Another  dreadful  thing,  still  dreadful,  although  so 
much  was  numbed  in  her,  was  the  meeting  with  her 
husband  the  next  day.  She  had  thought  him  some 


254  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

common  stranger;  that  had  been  the  dreadful  thing. 
He  had  seemed  vulgar  to  her;  a  person  out  of  her 
circle;  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  speak  to  him. 
All  that  she  could  do  was  to  glance  at  his  neck  con- 
tinually. It  had  a  horrible  fascination  for  her,  this  neck 
that  the  rope  was  laid  for.  She  did  not  hate  him.  He 
was  dead  to  her ;  that  was  all ;  the  worst  horror  was 
when  she  remembered  her  love-days,  seeing  him  now  as 
he  was.  She  bore  her  lot  alone,  shut  up  in  her  cabin, 
seldom  venturing  out.  At  times  she  would  lie  back,  in 
a  nervous  crisis,  clenching  her  fingers  into  her  palms, 
shaking  with  the  hate  of  Captain  Margaret.  He  might, 
she  thought,  have  spared  her  that  scene  at  the  Gov- 
ernor's. But  no ;  it  was  all  his  plan ;  all ;  from  the  very 
first ;  his  plan  to  have  her  near  him.  That  was  his  love 
for  her,  to  have  her  near  him,  to  poison  her  against  her 
husband,  to  tempt  her  husband  with  another  woman, 
to  heap  all  these  indignities,  all  these  torments,  so  that 
he,  the  lover,  might  triumph.  All  the  voyage  he  had 
been  at  it.  Little  things  came  back  to  her  now;  little 
tender,  insinuating  acts.  They  came  over  her  in  a  shock 
of  shame.  She  hated  him,  she  hated  him.  And  yet, 
for  all  her  hate  of  him,  she  could  not  think  of  leaving 
the  ship,  nor  of  what  her  future  was  to  be ;  that  was  all 
dead  and  blank  to  her.  England  was  dead  and  blank  to 
her.  She  could  not  go  back  to  England,  save  as  some 
wounded  hare,  with  the  blood  glazing  on  her  fur,  limping 
to  her  form  to  die.  She  was  stunned;  she  could  not 
think.  Her  death  in  life  would  go  on  for  a  little ;  per- 
haps for  a  long  while;  it  did  not  matter  how.  Then 
it  would  stop;  all  that  she  could  ask  would  be  that  it 
might  soon  stop.  Perrin  was  the  only  person  whom  she 
could  bear  to  see,  or  to  speak  with.  It  was  through  him, 
she  guessed,  that  her  husband  was  removed  from  her 
sight.  He  was  living  now,  Perrin  told  her,  in  the 


THE  LANDFALL  255 

'tween-decks,  having  his  meals  in  the  wardroom.  Per- 
rin,  Margaret,  and  Cammock  had  taken  to  living  in  their 
cabins,  so  that  she  might  not  be  oppressed  with  com- 
pany. She  filled  in  the  unsaid  portion  of  Perrin's 
speech  with  "  living  with  Mrs.  Inigo  "  ;  and  she  knew 
from  Perrin's  face  that  he  understood  her  thought,  and 
that  she  was  right.  She  liked  Perrin  more  and  more 
as  the  days  passed.  She  understood  him  now,  she 
thought.  The  world  had  gentled  him  by  some  such  blow 
as  had  crushed  her.  She  could  never  think  of  him  as 
the  thoroughly  foolish  man  he  was.  She  only  thought 
of  him  as  a  poor  hurt  waif,  almost  a  woman  in  many 
ways,  who  felt  for  her  keenly  enough  to  know  that  he 
must  not  show  his  feeling.  She  liked  his  shy  way  of 
coming  into  the  cabin  in  the  late  afternoon,  when  the 
steward  served  the  chocolate.  He  would  enter  shyly, 
speaking  with  a  false  air  of  jocularity,  to  propose  chess, 
poetry,  a  game  at  cards,  or  a  little  music.  The  time 
would  pass  quietly.  He  would  lose  that  false  air  of  his ; 
they  would  talk  together  almost  like  sisters,  until  the 
change  of  the  watch  at  six  o'clock.  He  helped  her 
through  her  worst  days,  nor  did  she  ever  know  that  the 
tales  he  told  her,  the  little  jokes  in  his  conversation, 
were  repeated  from  the  talk  of  the  man  she  hated;  as 
the  hated  man  had  planned,  in  his  blind  love  for  her. 

Captain  Margaret  had  his  little  hell  about  him;  the 
days  were  bitter  to  him.  All  day  long,  and  through  the 
night,  he  had  the  image  of  his  dishonour  with  him.  All 
the  weeks  of  deceit,  all  the  acts  of  deceit,  all  the  long 
strain  of  pretence ;  they  were  all  over.  They  had  ended 
in  her  hating  and  suspecting  him.  He  would  lie  awake 
in  the  night,  and  the  memory  of  his  deceit  would  eat 
into  him  like  acid,  burning.  He  would  blush,  lying 
there  in  his  bunk,  at  the  thought  of  his  baseness;  it 
stuck  in  his  throat,  now  that  he  could  see  things  clearly. 


256  CAPTAIN  MAEGAEET 

He  had  eaten  dirt  in  a  vile  cause ;  all  honest  men  must 
loathe  him,  he  thought.  Then  came  another  memory, 
the  memory  of  Olivia,  her  beauty,  her  paleness,  her 
voice,  her  sorrow.  It  was  bitter  to  him  to  feel  that  he 
was  the  bitterest  part  of  her  sorrow,  and  that  he  could 
not  help  her,  nor  comfort  her,  but  only  prompt  Perrin  to 
help  her.  He  tried  to  tell  himself  that  her  beauty  was 
an  excuse  for  him.  His  love  had  been  noble  enough ;  it 
had  not  been  selfish;  he  had  had  little  joy  of  the  ignoble 
things  he  had  done  for  her  sake.  He  wished  that  some 
spirit  would  surround  his  tortured  head  with  heavenly 
essence,  so  that  he  might  see  clearly,  as  God  sees,  all  the 
moral  value  of  his  acts,  all  the  right  and  the  wrong,  in 
fiery  letters,  easy  to  read.  She  was  very  beautiful,  and 
still  young.  Meanwhile  he  had  his  life  to  live,  and  his 
task  to  do.  It  was  not  going  to  be  an  easy  task.  He 
was  coming  to  it  broken.  His  only  comfort  in  these 
days  was  the  knowledge  that  Stukeley  had  lied  when 
he  had  said  that  Olivia  was  going  to  have  a  child.  That 
horror  was  removed  for  ever.  Stukeley  had  lied.  He 
prayed  that  some  day  the  patient  fates  would  take  Stuke- 
ley, and  show  him,  for  an  instant,  before  death,  the 
image  of  himself.  He  needed  not  to  have  prayed.  To 
most  of  us  the  patient  fates  come,  holding  up  that  image. 
Besides,  Margaret  knew  well  that  Stukeley  had  had  his 
image  spoiled  for  him  by  the  accident  of  his  birth.  The 
man  loved  animals ;  was  truly  kind  and  thoughtful  with 
them.  He  should  have  been  a  groom,  a  hunt  groom, 
with  an  alehouse  and  ostlers  for  his  evenings.  Margaret 
could  see  Stukeley  holding  up  his  hands,  when  his  image 
came  to  him,  saying  that  it  was  not  his  own  work,  but 
the  work  of  the  drunken  fox-hunter  his  father,  who  came 
home  bloody  from  the  mangling  of  a  fox,  to  give  his 
little  son  drink,  and  to  egg  him  on  to  kiss  the  maids. 
Cammock  was  not  free  from  trouble ;  he  had  his  own 


THE  LANDFALL  257 

share.  The  Broken  Heart  was  no  happier  to  him, 
though  he  no  longer  suffered  from  Stukelej.  The  men 
of  war  were  the  cause  of  the  trouble,  even  as  he  had 
feared.  They  were  too  independent,  they  resented  con- 
trol, they  had  a  bad  effect  upon  the  ship's  discipline. 
He  had  had  trouble  with  them  from  the  very  first,  when 
they  came  aboard  drunk,  twenty-seven  of  them,  bringing 
with  them,  as  members  of  their  company,  the  two  de- 
serters from  the  trading-booth.  He  had  promptly  put 
the  two  deserters  into  irons  for  a  night.  He  had  then 
turned  them  forward,  stopped  their  rum  for  the  voyage, 
and  forced  them  to  work  on  deck  from  eight  in  the  morn- 
ing till  four  in  the  afternoon,  on  all  days,  whether  it  was 
their  watch  or  not.  This  had  caused  a  mutiny  among 
the  men  of  war.  They  had  come  on  deck  to  demand  the 
return  of  their  mates.  Margaret,  having  called  all 
hands  aft,  had  spoken  to  them,  as  Cammock  confessed, 
"  like  a  father."  He  had  read  his  commission  to  them. 
He  had  promised  them  that,  if  they  showed  any  signs 
of  rebellion,  he  would  land  them  at  an  English  colony, 
where  they  should  be  drafted  into  the  Navy  without 
mercy.  He  had  then  called  out  the  two  men  who  had 
been  most  noisy  in  the  mutiny,  and  had  put  them  in  the 
bilboes  abaft  the  main  mast,  under  a  sentry,  for  the 
next  three  days.  But  though  the  mutiny  was  crushed, 
the  ill-feeling  remained.  The  men  of  war  went  about 
their  duties  sullenly,  showing  that  they  resented  his 
action.  The  fo'c's'le  hands,  quick  to  catch  the  mutinous 
temper,  became  "  soldiers/'  who  loafed  and  skulked,  till 
the  mates,  goaded  by  their  insolence,  made  protest,  with 
a  bight  of  the  topgallant  brace.  Cammock  had  more 
than  the  anxieties  of  office  on  his  shoulders.  He  had 
to  walk  the  poop,  the  captain  of  all  on  board,  in  a  false 
position.  In  a  sense  he  was  a  privateer.  Had  he  been, 
as  he  once  was,  a  privateer  only,  he  would  have  known 


258  CAPTAIX  MARGABET 

how  to  handle  the  privateers  beneath  him.  He  under- 
stood them.  He  could  even  feel  for  them ;  he  knew  how 
they  felt  towards  him ;  when  he  saw  them  hanging  round 
the  hatch,  cursing  the  cruise  and  all  on  board.  But  in 
the  Broken  Heart  he  was  less  the  privateer  than  the  mer- 
chant captain  going  trading.  He  had  divided  interests 
to  manage ;  he  had  a  divided  crew  under  his  command. 
He  could  see  that  the  temper  of  the  ship  was  as  bad  as 
it  could  be.  The  men  were  in  that  difficult  state  a  little 
on  this  side  of  mutiny,  always  on  the  verge,  never  quite 
declaring,  but  sullen  enough  to  make  their  captain's  life 
an  anxious  life.  He  expected  that  their  arrival  at 
Springer's  Key  would  put  them  in  a  better  spirit.  He 
wished  that  he  could  give  them  some  fighting  on  the 
way;  for  it  was  the  belief  of  his  old  commander  that 
there  is  nothing  like  the  sight  of  a  dead  or  wounded 
comrade  to  make  a  man  look  to  his  leader  with  trust 
and  thankfulness.  Meanwhile  he  drilled  all  hands  daily 
at  the  guns,  expecting  a  refusal  of  duty  at  any  moment. 
Thinking  of  the  situation  in  the  quiet  of  his  cabin,  he 
decided  that  the  crew  would  not  stand  failure.  f<  If  we 
fail,"  he  said,  "  this  gang  will  not  try  twice.  No  priva- 
teers will.  And  these  aren't  the  pick  of  the  Kipe."  He 
felt  that  the  cruise  would  fail.  His  forebodings  ob- 
sessed him.  When  he  walked  the  poop  at  nights,  walk- 
ing athwartships  now,  not  fore  and  aft,  lest  the  helms- 
man should  attack  him  from  behind,  he  was  sure  that 
he  would  never  see  home  again.  He  was  always  imagin- 
ing a  place  of  noise  and  smoke,  with  himself  falling 
forward  on  the  sand,  looking  his  last,  shot  in  the  body. 
The  obsession  made  him  more  serious  than  usual.  He 
borrowed  a  Testament  from  Perrin  and  read  the  last 
chapter.  Perrin  angered  him  by  saying  that  the  last 
chapter  bored  him  to  death. 

As  for  Stukeley,  his  senses  were  gratified;  he  asked 


THE  LANDFALL  259 

for  nothing  more  from  the  world.  He  had  every  reason 
to  feel  satisfied.  He  had  not  been  arrested  in  Virginia, 
that  was  good;  he  had  broken  with  his  batter-pudding 
of  a  wife,  that  was  better ;  and  he  was  no  longer  tortured 
by  the  prigs  of  the  cabin.  He  was  messing  now  in  the 
wardroom,  with  Cottrill  and  Ramage,  visiting  Mrs. 
Inigo  openly,  whenever  he  liked;  that  was  best  of  all. 
Neither  Margaret  nor  Perrin  had  spoken  to  him  since 
he  had  bragged  to  them  of  having  broken  with  Olivia,  of 
having  fooled  them  about  her  child.  Cammock  had 
told  him  that  he  was  to  leave  the  cabin  precincts  and 
that  when  they  wanted  him  as  an  interpreter  they  would 
send  for  him;  but  that  until  then  he  would  either  lie 
low  or  go  in  irons.  At  the  moment  he  was  too  pleased 
with  his  successes  to  regret  his  loss  of  power.  He  was 
content  to  lie  low,  and  to  refrain  from  offering  insults  to 
all  who  irritated  him.  He  patched  up  a  truce  with  Mr. 
Cottrill,  whom  he  found  to  be  good  company.  He  made 
friends  with  Smut,  the  ship's  cat,  and  taught  one  of  her 
kittens  to  walk  on  bottle-mouths.  He  made  friends 
with  several  of  the  men  of  war,  who  had  their  mess 
without  the  wardroom.  He  would  sing  "  Old  Rose  " 
and  "  Twankydillo  "  to  them,  in  the  fine  bass  voice  of 
which  he  was  so  vain.  Like  most  seafaring  men,  the 
privateers  thought  much  of  a  fine  singer.  They  used  to 
hang  about  the  wardroom  door  after  supper,  to  hear  him 
singing  quietly  to  himself,  going  over  his  trills  and 
gurgles.  He  had  but  to  come  out  into  the  'tween-decks 
to  find  himself  a  popular  idol.  Men  would  rise  up 
from  their  chests,  with  real  courtesy,  as  he  came  among 
them.  If  there  were  singers  there  they  became  silent 
suddenly,  tale-tellers  ceased  in  their  stories.  There  came 
a  low  murmur  of  "  Good  evening,  sir.  Good  evening, 
Mr.  Stukeley.  Will  you  sit  down,  sir?  Are  we  past 
the  Serranas  yet,  d'ye  know,  sir  ? "  till  he  was  en- 


260  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

trapped  among  them.  As  he  did  not  know  sailors,  he 
took  all  this  to  be  a  tribute  to  his  good  looks,  to  his  fine 
physique,  to  his  manner,  to  his  taking  conversation. 
He  used  to  get  them  to  tell  him  of  their  lives  on  the 
coast,  believing  that  it  was  a  kind  of  life  which  might 
please  himself.  He  inquired  also  of  the  life  in  the 
Spanish  towns,  that  lazy,  luxurious  life,  with  so  many 
opportunities  for  amassing  wealth  and  for  self-indulg- 
ence. A  buccaneer  would  handle  a  guitar,  and  sing,  in 
a  high,  false,  musical  whine,  about  "  my  Santa  Marta." 
Another  buccaneer,  drumming  on  his  chest-lid,  would 
begin  about  the  Spanish  girls  and  the  sack  of  Porto 
Bello.  Listening  to  them,  down  in  the  half-darkness, 
Stukeley  felt  that  he,  too,  would  soon  taste  of  that  life. 
He  would  lie  in  a  grass  hammock,  fanned  by  a  Spanish- 
Indian  girl,  whose  great  eyes  would  look  into  his.  Eh  ? 
He  would  eat  skewered  "  soldiers  "  from  the  hands  of  an 
Indian  wife.  He  would  catch  fireflies  to  stick  in  her 
hair.  Perhaps  he  would  see  the  sack  of  a  town,  with  the 
women  crouched  in  their  rooms,  waiting  for  the  con- 
querors. "  Brown  women ;  modest,  lively  little  things," 
so  Raphael  Gamage  told  him. 

The  days  dragged  by  slowly.  The  Broken  Heart 
crawled  like  a  slug,  leaving  a  slug's  track  on  the  sea. 
The  bells  struck,  the  sails  slatted.  The  sun  arose  greyly 
in  mist,  then  burned  the  mist  away,  a  spilling  spring  of 
light,  in  a  sky  like  blue  fire.  Then  in  the  glare  of  noon 
the  chart  was  marked,  the  pencilled  dot  moved  forward 
in  its  zigzag,  past  the  Serranas,  past  Roncif,  past  the 
Roncadores.  Then  the  wind  came  fair  for  a  few  days  to 
help  her  to  the  south,  her  bows  in  a  heap  of  smother. 
Presently,  when  the  first  land-wind  came  to  them,  in  a 
faint  breath,  smelling,  as  they  said,  of  arnotto  roses, 
there  came  drifting  butterflies,  white  and  blue,  very 
lovely,  settling  and  dying  on  the  deck,  like  petals  from  a 


THE  LANDFALL  261 

fruit  tree  in  spring.  A  strange  bird  sailed  past  them, 
drooping  her  legs,  her  wings  beating  like  a  mill-wheel, 
rhythmically,  her  fierce  eyes  looking  ahead,  searching 
the  sky.  A  tree  tumbled  in  their  wash,  rolling  over 
and  over.  A  creeper  from  the  branches  sank  in  the 
wake,  its  leaves  like  little  green  hands,  clutching  out, 
far  down,  among  the  globes  of  the  bubbles.  Then  when 
the  sun  was  sinking,  when  the  air  was  intense  and  clear, 
like  the  air  in  a  vision,  far  ahead  a  bluish  mist  showed, 
so  dimly,  in  such  blue  faintness,  that  one  could  not  be 
sure.  Till  dark  they  watched  it.  When  the  dawn 
made  each  cloud  a  scale  of  scarlet,  edged  with  fire  to  the 
mid-heaven,  the  mist  took  outline.  Long  before  sunset 
the  land  lay  clear,  a  long  purplish  line  of  land,  with  a 
gleaming  peak  or  two  round  which  the  cloud  streamed. 
It  stretched  away  on  each  side  of  them,  like  an  army 
in  rank.  Parts  of  it  were  dim;  its  wings  were  dim; 
but  ahead  the  hills  were  gathered  close ;  one  could  count 
each  fold  in  them.  Margaret,  loitering  on  the  poop  with 
Perrin,  watched  them  intently,  with  emotions  which 
mastered  him.  A  voice  seemed  to  be  talking  to  him. 
"  What  went  ye  out  for  to  see  ?  "  it  repeated.  He  had 
gone  out  to  see  this  land,  to  hear  the  multitudes  of  sea- 
fowl  scream.  There  lay  the  land.  Like  all  lands  seen 
from  the  sea,  it  seemed  to  lure  him,  to  beckon  to  him, 
to  be  full  of  mystery,  of  mystery  which  he  could 
solve. 

"  So  that's  the  land,"  he  said  at  length.  "  What  do 
you  make  of  it,  Edward  ?  " 

"  I  ?  "  said  Edward.  "  It  makes  me  shudder  some- 
how. It's  the  end  of  something.  Change  is  always 
horrible  to  me." 

Cammock  joined  them,  thumbing  the  leaves  of  a 
portolano. 

"  We're  away  to  the  east,  sir,"  he  said  to  Margaret. 


262  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  If  you'll  stand  in  a  bit  further,  sir,  we  shall  open 
Golden  Island  clear,  before  dark.  That'll  give  me  a 
landfall  to  go  by." 

"  And  when  shall  we  make  Springer's  Key,  captain  ?  " 

"  To-morrow,  some  time,  sir.  But  we'll  stand  in 
further  here,  if  you  don't  mind.  There  may  be  some 
of  those  friends  of  ours  in  the  harbour  here.  A  nice 
little  sandy  bay  in  there,  sir." 

Soon  the  hills  drew  nearer.  The  line  of  land  be- 
came jagged.  What  had  seemed  to  be  the  main  now 
showed  as  islands,  a  long,  low  island,  dark  with  man- 
grove, and  to  the  south  of  it  a  sloping  peak,  wooded  to 
the  top,  a  cone  of  green,  with  rocks  about  it  over  which 
the  breakers  toppled.  Margaret  could  see  the  line  of  the 
breakers  advancing  towards  them,  blue  and  glassy.  In 
the  stillness,  he  could  see  the  curl  on  the  wave,  the  slow 
running  curl  along  the  line,  then  the  intense  brightness 
of  the  burst,  a  momentary  marvel  of  white.  He  looked 
at  Cammock,  who  was  looking  at  the  wooded  hill,  full  of 
memories.  A  few  of  the  men  of  war,  faking  a  hawser  in 
the  waist,  stopped  their  work  to  look  with  him.  One  or 
two  of  them,  raising  their  caps,  waved  to  the  island. 
u  Good  old  Golden  Island,"  they  cried.  "  The  good  old 
Golden  Island." 

"  Yes,"  said  Captain  Cammock  to  Margaret. 
"  That's  Golden  Island.  Last  time  I  was  ashore  there 
we  were  three  hundred  strong,  going  across  the  Isthmus. 
We'd  fires  on  the  sands  there,  I  and  my  brother  Bill, 
roasting  crabs  together.  1^  remember  we  chucked 
pebbles  over  that  palm  on  the  spit  there.  Queer  the 
palm  being  there  and  Bill  gone,  sir.  He  could  chuck 
good,  too;  further'n  I  could." 

"  You  were  very  much  attached  to  your  brother, 
weren't  you  ?  "  Margaret  asked  him. 

"  I  didn't  set  much  value  by  him  at  the  time,  sir. 


THE  LANDFALL  263 

It's  afterwards  one  feels  it.  There's  a  little  black  devil 
of  a  reef  beyond  there,  two  feet  under  water  at  a  low 
spring.  You  don't  see  it,  and  yet  it  rips  you  across  all 
right.  Eeady  oh,  Mr.  Cottrill.  Haul  the  foot  of  the 
mainsail  up.  Hands  about  ship.  Ease  down  the 
helium." 

They  sailed  past  Golden  Island,  and  past  Sasardi, 
watching  the  colours  of  the  sunset  on  the  rocks  and 
woods.  The  brilliant  birds  flew  homing,  screaming.  A 
faint  smell,  sickly  sweet,  came  to  them  in  puffs  from  the 
shore.  Now  and  then,  in  the  quiet,  they  heard  the  wash 
of  breakers  bursting  on  reefs.  The  noise  kept  them 
company  at  intervals  through  the  night,  as  they  drove 
on,  under  the  stars,  past  Pinos,  past  Zambo  Gandi,  to- 
wards the  Point  of  San  Bias.  It  burst  upon  them 
mournfully,  like  the  blowing  of  a  sea-beast,  a  wash,  a 
breathing  of  the  sea.  When  the  dawn  broke,  flashing 
the  flying-fish  into  silver  arrows,  they  were  at  their 
hearts'  desire.  The  palms  on  Springer's  Key  were 
trembling,  in  the  light  air,  before  them.  The  ring  of 
reef  on  the  key's  north  side  stood  up  black  amid  the  surf 
that  toppled  tirelessly.  Pelicans  flew  past  to  fish. 
Macaws  screamed  from  the  fruit  trees.  Two  Indians, 
with  gold  in  their  noses,  waved  to  them  from  their 
canoe  as  they  paddled  softly,  to  spear  cavally.  Beyond 
them,  at  anchor  off  the  key,  was  a  small  sloop.  Her  men 
were  filling  water  ashore,  wading  slowly  up  the  beach 
with  puncheons.  The  saluting  gun,  fired  by  Cammock's 
order,  made  them  gather  together  in  a  group.  One  of 
them  waved.  Others,  still  in  the  boat,  rowed  out  to 
show  the  channel.  The  sun  shone  bright  over  the  multi- 
tude of  islands.  The  sea  was  so  blue  that  the  beauty 
of  her  colour  was  like  a  truth  apprehended.  It  was  so 
perfect  a  beauty  that  Margaret,  looking  on  it,  felt  that 
he  apprehended  the  truth. 


264  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  Perrin,"  he  said,  "  Edward,  what  do  you  think  of 
our  home  ? " 

"  I'm  not  thinking  of  that,"  he  answered.  "  I  think 
that  all  these  things  are  images  in  an  intellect.  I  think, 
by  brooding  on  them,  one  passes  into  that  intellect." 

The  colours  and  house-flag  blew  out  clear  as  the  ship 
came  to  her  berth.  The  sloop  fired  a  salute ;  the  Broken 
Heart  answered  her.  Soon  she  was  opposite  the  little 
sandy  beach  in  the  centre  of  the  key.  Her  sails  drooped, 
her  way  checked ;  then,  at  Cammock's  shout,  the  anchor 
dropped,  the  cable  running  with  a  rattle,  making  the 
little  fish  scurry  past,  in  view,  though  a  fathom 
down. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Cammock,  "  we've  broken  the  neck 
of  that." ' 

"  Yes,  captain.     And  now  ?  " 

"  I've  had  the  old  sail-room  turned  into  a  dining- 
room.  It's  laid  for  breakfast  now,  sir.  I've  got  to  see 
the  captain  of  that  sloop  and  learn  the  news.  That's  the 
first  thing.  Call  my  boat  away,  boatswain." 

The  privateer  sloop  was  the  Happy  Return  of 
Jamaica,  Captain  Tucket,  bound  on  a  roving  cruise  with 
twenty  men  and  a  French  commission.  She  carried  six 
small  guns,  and  her  men  wore  arms,  all  of  the  very 
choicest  make ;  but  her  hold  was  full  of  goods  which  Cap- 
tain Tucket  wished  to  sell.  From  Jamaica  he  had 
brought  beads  and  coloured  cloths,  with  which  he  was 
buying  gold-dust,  wax,  and  bird-peppers  from  the  In- 
dians. He  had  also  several  tons  of  Guiaquil  chocolate 
and  sweetmeats  lately  taken  on  the  sea.  He  had  come 
to  Springer's  Key,  he  said,  to  fill  water,  before  going 
east  along  the  coast,  as  far  as  the  'Seniqua,  looking  for 
logwood.  Things  were  quiet,  he  said,  along  the  Main; 
there  was  nothing  doing ;  only  a  few  barcalongas  taken. 
There  had  been  talk  at  La  Sound's  Key  of  combining 


THE  LANDFALL  265 

and  going  to  the  Santa  Maria  gold-mines,  but  it  had 
conae  to  nothing.  The  French  and  English  would  not 
agree  upon  a  leader.  For  his  own  part,  he  said,  he  be- 
lieved there  was  logwood  along  some  of  these  rivers  east 
there,  and  he  was  going  to  look  for  it.  He  was  a  shrewd, 
but  frank,  elderly  man. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said,  taking  out  a  handkerchief. 
"  There's  some  of  it.  I  dyed  that  of  a  slip  I  cut.  None 
of  your  business  where.  There's  a  pretty  red  for  you. 
And  I  got  another  dodge  I'm  working  at.  Here.  What 
d'you  make  of  these  ?  " 

He  flung  upon  the  table  a  few  little  sticks,  some  of 
them  crimson,  some  blue. 

"  What  are  these  ?  "  said  Margaret,  examining  them. 
"  Are  they  wax  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.     Ordinary  beeswax." 

"  You've  got  them  a  very  beautiful  clear  colour. 
Look,  Edward.  Did  you  learn  the  secret  yourself  ?  " 

"  You  wouldn't  learn  to  do  them  at  one  of  your  Eng- 
lish colleges,  sir." 

"  No.     Will  the  colour  stand  fire  ?  " 

"  They're  very  good  coloured  wax  anyway,"  said  Cap- 
tain Tucker,  putting  them  away. 

"  We  was  thinking  of  trying  to  trade  at  Tolu,"  Cam- 
mock  said.  "  Would  you  care  to  stand  in  with  us  ?  " 

"At  Tolu?" 

"  They  may  not  trade,  of  course ;  but " 

"'  I've  come  here,"  Margaret  said,  "  to  establish  a 
trade,  Captain  Tucker.  If  I'm  not  allowed  to  trade 
with  the  Spanish  towns,  I  shall  trade  here,  like  you, 
and  defend  such  traders  as  come  to  me.  All  this  coast 
is  going  to  waste.  I  want  to  see  all  you  roving  traders 
banded  together  to  make  use  of  it.  The  Spanish  can't 
work  it.  Why  should  not  you  join  us,  with  your  men, 
for  a  beginning  ?  " 


266  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  The  jackal  went  a-hunting  with  the  lion,  sir.  But 
it  wasn't  him  got  the  tender-loin/'  said  Tucket. 

"  You  mean  you're  afraid  that  my  men  might  impose 
on  yours  ?  " 

"  Ah  come,  come,  Abel,"  said  Cammock.  "  We're  old 
hands,  you  and  I.  It's  all  a  matter  of  articles." 

"  I  must  talk  it  over,"  said  Abel.  "  I'll  run  over  to 
La  Sound's  Key  and  talk  it  out  with  my  mates.  I 
won't  say.  No,  sir.  I  won't  say.  Not  one  way  or 
the  other." 

He  left  soon  after  breakfast,  and,  having  now  filled  his 
water,  sailed  from  the  key. 

"  He's  afraid  of  me,"  said  Margaret.  "  He's  afraid 
that  I  come  from  the  Government,  to  put  down  privateer- 
ing. Isn't  that  what's  in  his  mind  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Cammock.  "  He's  pleased  with  the 
notion.  He's  a  trader.  He  wants  to  cut  logwood  with- 
out any  fear  of  guarda-costas.  He'll  take  all  the  defence 
you  care  to  give;  but  he  won't  come  cruising  with  you 
till  he's  got  enough  friends  to  stop  you  taking  the  lion's 
share.  He'll  be  back  to-morrow  with  some  friends." 

Margaret  went  ashore,  after  this,  to  view  the  key. 
It  was  one  of  the  larger  keys  of  the  archipelago.  It 
was  about  a  mile  long,  running  east  and  west,  and  about 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  across  at  its  broadest  part.  In  its 
highest  part  it  was  not  more  than  sixty  feet  above  the 
water;  but  the  trees  rising  up  above  it  to  great  height 
made  it  seem  hilly.  A  sandy  beach  shelved  down  into 
the  water  on  the  side  facing  the  Isthmus.  On  the  north 
side  the  shore  was  rocky  and  steep-to,  and  hemmed  about, 
by  a  five-mile  sweep  of  reef,  in  a  ring  of  breakers.  In- 
deed, the  reef  ringed  the  key  round;  but  the  rocks 
about  the  beach  did  not  break  the  seas.  The  island 
could  only  be  approached  from  the  south  and  east.  On 
the  other  side  neither  ship  nor  boat  could  come  within 


THE  LANDFALL  267 

great-gun-shot.  To  the  east,  for  a  dozen  miles  or  more, 
an  array  of  palm  keys  stretched,  with  reefs  in  tumult 
round  them.  To  approach  the  key  from  the  east  one 
had  to  sail  within  these  keys,  in  a  channel  or  fairway 
known  as  Springer's  Drive.  This  channel  was  bordered 
to  the  south  by  the  keys  fringing  the  Isthmus.  The 
double  line  of  keys,  separated  by  three  miles  of  sea, 
made  a  sort  of  palm  hedge,  or  avenue,  up  to  the  anchor- 
age. There  was  good  holding-ground  and  riding  in 
every  part  of  the  Drive;  but  ships  usually  rode  near 
Springer's  Key,  for  they  could  get  water  there.  Unlike 
most  of  the  keys,  it  had  a  spring,  which  bubbled  up 
strongly  on  the  beach,  through  an  old  sunk  tar-barrel, 
some  yards  beyond  the  tide-marks.  The  water  was 
cold  and  clear,  gushing  up  with  a  gurgle,  making  the 
sand  grains  dance.  The  bottom  of  the  cask  was  cov- 
ered with  rusty  iron,  old  nails,  old  blades  of  knives,  old 
round-shot,  laid  there  by  sailors,  long  ago,  in  the  belief 
that  they  would  make  the  water  medicinal.  Some  one 
had  dammed  up  a  pool  below  the  cask,  for  the  easier 
filling  of  the  water-breakers.  The  water  gurgled  away, 
over  the  lip  of  the  pool,  amid  a  tangle  of  water  plants 
that  bore  a  profuse  sweet  blossom,  like  a  daisy.  Mar- 
garet had  never  seen  a  lovelier  place.  The  brightness 
of  the  sun  on  the  sea,  the  green  of  the  trees  towering  up 
beyond  him,  the  macaws  of  all  colours,  making  their 
mockeries  in  sweet  notes,  were  beautiful  exceedingly. 
It  was  all  new  and  strange'to  him.  He  half  wished  that 
he  might  be  left  alone  there.  He  had  no  longer  any 
wish  to  succeed.  Had  Olivia  been  on  the  other  side  of 
the  world,  his  strength  would  have  gone  to  make  this 
spot  a  home  for  half  the  ships  in  the  world.  They  would 
have  lain  there,  with  their  sails  as  awnings,  at  anchor 
off  the  city  he  had  builded.  His  citizens  would  have 
made  those  islands  another  Venice,  another  Athens,  a 


268  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

glorious  city,  a  city  of  noble  life  and  law.  All  that  was 
in  his  imagination  might  have  existed,  he  thought.  All 
the  splendour  should  have  come  in  praise  of  her.  Noth- 
ing would  have  stopped  him.  In  his  heart  her  face 
would  have  flowered,  that  beautiful,  pale  face,  the  image 
of  the  woman  he  loved;  he  would  have  made  his  city 
glorious.  Marble  bridges  should  have  spanned  the 
channels.  His  empire  would  have  spread.  It  would 
have  spread  over  the  sea  there,  over  the  keys,  over  the 
low  coast  fringed  with  mangroves,  over  the  hills,  dim 
in  the  south,  over  the  crags  where  the  clouds  streamed, 
beyond  the  great  bay,  far  into  the  south,  past  Garachina, 
past  Tumbez,  beyond  Ylo  to  the  Evangelists.  He 
would  have  been  a  king.  His  ships  would  have  scented 
all  the  seas  of  the  world,  bringing  balms  and  spice  home. 
Now  all  that  was  over,  he  saw  what  might  have  been. 
It  would  not  now  be.  He  had  no  wish  now  to  see 
his  city  rise.  He  found  his  imagination  dulled.  The 
woman  who  had  been  his  imagination,  through  whom, 
alone,  he  had  lived  imaginatively,  walked,  a  tired 
shadow,  with  heavy  eyes,  in  the  ship  beyond  the  reef. 
If  he  passed  her  she  shuddered,  averting  her  eyes.  If 
he  spoke  to  her  —  twice  he  had  tried  to  speak  to  her  — 
she  drew  in  her  breath,  her  eyes  shut;  she  drew  away 
from  him  as  from  a  snake.  He  had  no  heart  left  to 
think  of  cities.  All  that  he  wished  now  was  to  do  what 
he  could  for  the  merchants  who  had  risked  their  money. 
The  city  would  have  to  wait  till  the  other  lover  came. 
The  city  would  rise  up  glorious  from  the  beauty  of  some 
other  woman.  All  his  love,  and  high  resolve,  and  noble 
effort  had  come  to  this,  that  Olivia  thought  him  some- 
thing lower  than  Stukeley,  something  baser  than  the 
beasts. 

He  walked  with  Cammock  to  the  island's  eastern  end, 
where  a  rocky  hillock  stood  out  from  the  trees.     He  saw 


THE  LANDFALL  269 

that  a  fort  there  would  command  the  channel.  Six  of 
his  long-range  guns  planted  there  under  cover  would 
be  enough  to  defend  the  anchorage  against  any  prob- 
able attack  from  guarda-costas.  He  drew  a  sketch-plan 
for  a  small  redoubt,  and  ordered  half  his  crew  ashore 
to  begin  the  clearing  of  the  ground.  He  would  have  a 
wall  of  unmortared  stones,  backed  by  gabions,  leaving 
embrasures  for  the  six  cannon.  The  outside  of  the  fort 
would  be  covered  with  earth  and  sand,  so  that  from  a 
little  distance  it  would  look  like  a  natural  hillock.  He 
caused  a  dozen  men  to  cut  down  bejuco  cane,  and  to 
plait  it,  while  green,  into  wattle  for  the  gabions.  An 
Indian  prince  came  to  him  from  the  Main  that  after- 
noon. He  entertained  him  with  ceremony,  giving 
gifts  of  beads  and  petticoats,  with  the  result  that,  the 
next  morning,  there  were  fifty  natives  on  the  key  helping 
in  the  clearing  of  the  ground.  They,  too,  were  bribed 
by  beads.  They  were  kindly,  intelligent  fellows,  accus- 
tomed to  be  reckoned  as  the  equals  of  white  men,  so  that 
Cammock,  superintending  the  work,  had  to  watch  his 
hands,  lest  they  should  treat  their  guests,  in  the  English 
style,  as  niggers.  The  fort,  such  as  it  was,  was  finished 
on  the  third  day.  Its  outer  face  showed  from  the  sea 
like  a  sloping  hillock,  which  in  a  few  days  would  be 
again  green  with  creepers.  Within  the  wall  of  gabions, 
backed  by  wattle-bound  piles,  was  a  gun  platform,  with 
dry  powder  storerooms  twenty  feet  behind  each  gun. 
The  guns  were  mounted  on  iron  carriages,  and  so  ar- 
ranged that  each  of  the  six  could  play  across  some  ninety 
degrees  of  the  compass.  A  roof  of  felt  was  rigged  over 
each  gun  to  protect  the  gunners  in  the  rains.  Margaret 
wished  to  hoist  the  colours  over  the  fort;  but  Perrin 
begged  that  the  new  republic  might  be  spared,  at  any 
rate  till  it  was  worth  appropriating.  Cammock  advised 
him  to  refrain,  lest  the  buccaneers  should  suspect  him  of 


270  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

playing  for  the  hand  of  the  Crown.  So  no  flag  was 
hoisted,  though  within  the  fort,  daily,  military  sentries 
paced,  firing  a  gun  at  dawn  and  sunset. 

While  the  fort  was  in  building  some  of  the  Indians 
cleared  a  space  among  the  wood.  In  the  clearing  they 
built  a  great  house  for  the  workers:  a  thatched  house 
twelve  feet  high,  with  wattle  walls  made  rainproof. 
The  uprights  supported  the  hammocks  at  night.  Those 
who  slept  ashore  built  always  a  fire  of  aromatic  leaves 
in  the  house's  centre.  Before  turning  in  they  sprinkled 
this  with  water  to  make  a  smoke.  Those  who  woke  in 
the  night  smelt  the  sweet,  strong  smoke  which  made  their 
eyes  smart,  and  heard  without  the  never-ceasing  march 
of  the  surf,  the  drone  of  the  dew-flies,  and  the  drowsy 
twang  of  the  mosquitoes,  plagued  by  the  smoke. 

Captain  Tucket  returned  after  some  days  with  a 
sample  of  logwood  and  a  consort.  The  consort  was  that 
Captain  Pain  who  afterwards  made  such  a  stir  in  the 
Western  Gulf.  He  was  a  prosperous  captain  even  then. 
His  ship  was  a  fine  French-built  vessel  of  great  beauty. 
His  crew  numbered  ninety-seven  hands,  the  very  flower 
of  the  trade.  He  seemed  suspicious  of  Margaret,  who 
opened  a  trade  with  him  on  liberal  terms.  The  pri- 
rateers  bought  arms  and  clothes,  paying  for  them  with 
silver  and  gold ;  but  there  was  constraint  on  both  sides. 
The  privateers  were  suspicious.  At  dinner  in  the 
trade-room  Captain  Pain  gave  voice  to  his  suspicions. 

"  You're  a  gentleman,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  know  what 
you  want  out  here." 

"  Well,"  said  Margaret,  "  I've  already  told  you.  I've 
a  scheme  for  breaking  the  Spanish  power  here.  But 
before  I  take  any  violent  action  I  wish  to  try  once 
again  to  establish  a  trade  on  ordinary,  peaceful,  Eu- 
ropean lines.  There  is  no  reason  why  they  shouldn't 
trade." 


THE  LANDFALL  271 

"  And  if  they  do,"  said  Pain,  "  where  do  we  come 
in?" 

"  You  will  be  my  partner,  I  hope,"  said  Margaret. 
"  We  will  have  all  these  islands  laid  out  in  vanillas, 
cacao,  indigo,  anatta,  cochineal,  everything.  All  the 
Isthmus  there  will  be  our  estate.  We  shall  trade  with 
the  Spaniards  and  the  whole  of  Europe." 

"  Very  nice,  too,"  said  Pain.  "  But  if  the  Span- 
iards won't  trade  ? " 

"  Then  we  shall  declare  that  they've  no  right  here, 
and  that  we,  in  the  name  of  the  rest  of  the  world,  have 
a  right  to  assist  the  rightful  owners  of  the  country,  who 
wish  us  to  trade." 

"  And  then  a  governor'll  come,  and  stop  our  going 
on  the  account,"  said  Pain. 

"  Yes.  But  if  he  does,"  said  Margaret,  "  you  must 
see  that  with  the  Isthmus  in  your  hands  you'll  be  better 
off  than  you  are  now.  What  do  you  do  now?  You 
pick  up  a  boatful  of  sugar  once  a  month,  and  share 
a  crown  a  man.  Then  you  run  short  of  food  and  go 
to  Toro  for  turtle." 

"  That's  it,  Pete,"  said  Cammock. 

"  Your  scheme's  very  pretty,"  Pain  said.  "  But 
you're  a  gentleman.  I  ain't  a  gentleman  myself,  thank 
God,  and  I  don't  know  what  your  game  is.  You're 
either  a  bit  off  your  biscuit,  or  you're  in  with  the  Gov- 
ernment. That's  my  candid  opinion." 

"  All  right,"  said  Margaret.  "  We  won't  go  into 
that." 

At  this  moment  Stukeley  entered,  a  little  flown  with 
rum,  from  the  ward-room  dinner. 

"  Hello,  Maggy,"  he  said.  "  I've  come  to  talk  with 
Captain  Pain  here.  Your  servant,  captain.  I  suppose 
these  twisters  here  have  been  talking  about  and  about 
it.  Eh  ?  They  make  a  man  sick,  I  say.  Eh  ?  Hold 


272'  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

your  tongue,  Maggy.  Wait  till  you're  spoken  to.  I've 
got  something  to  say.  The  men  of  war  —  my  friends 
in  the  'tween-decks  there  —  they've  been  talking  with 
me  while  you've  been  talking  here.  You  talk  all  day, 
and  leave  off  just  where  you  were." 

"  And  what  have  you  done  ?  "  said  Perrin. 

"  I'm  not  addressing  you,  Pilly." 

"  Do  you  come  as  the  spokesman  of  the  men  of  war  ?  " 
Margaret  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  do,  my  little  Maggy." 

"  Gamage  is  a  shy,  retiring  soul,"  Perrin  said. 

"  He  isn't  a  crawler,  anyway." 

"  Well,"  Cammock  said,  "  let's  have  the  message. 
Here's  Captain  Pete  waiting  on  us." 

"  Right,"  Stukeley  said,  sitting  down  at  the  table. 
"  Then  I'm  to  tell  you  that  the  men  of  war  want  to 
know  when  they're  going  to  have  what  they  came  for. 
They're  sick  of  doing  sentry-go  in  the  ant-heap  yonder. 
They  signed  for  a  roving  life." 

"  They  signed  to  obey  our  orders,"  Cammock  said. 
"  They'll  get  all  the  roving  they've  a  need  for  soon 
enough." 

"  So  they  say,"  Stukeley  answered.  "  If  you  don't 
give  it  them  they'll  take  it,  and  half  your  crew  besides." 

"  I'll  look  after  my  crew,"  Cammock  said. 

"  Not  with  Captain  Tucket  and  Captain  Pain  here," 
said  Stukeley,  grinning.  "  You  see.  If  you  cut  up 
nasty,  Cammock.  Why.  You've  a  very  good  ship,  and 
a  lot  of  useful  weapons  in  your  hold.  Long  eighteens. 
Eh?  Carry  a  mile  and  a  quarter.  What's  to  stop  us 
putting  you  ashore.  Eh  ?  " 

"  That's  what  we  did  to  the  Frenchman,"  Cammock 
said.  "  D'you  remember,  Pete  ?  " 

"  At  the  Isla  Vache,"  said  Pain,  looking  down  mod- 
estly. "  I  remember." 


THE  LANDFALL  273 

He  spoke  with  such  a  strange  inflection  that  none 
there  could  guess  his  meaning,  though  all  looked  at  him 
curiously.  He  turned  to  Stukeley  with  attention,  as 
though  expecting  something  more. 

"  So,"  Stukeley  continued,  "  your  humble  servants 
of  the  'tween-decks  ask  that  you  will  give  them  a  brush. 
Or " 

"Or  what?" 

"  They'll  ask  Captain  Pain  here  to  find  them  ham- 
mock-space." 

Captain  Pain  seemed  to  search  Stukeley 's  face  for 
something  further. 

"  You  seem  determined  to  put  me  in  a  queer  position, 
mister,"  he  said.  "  But  come  now,  Mr.  Margaret. 
What's  wrong  with  having  a  go  at  Tolu  ?  We've  a 
hundred  and  ninety  men.  Why  not  ?  " 

"  I  must  trade,  or  try  to  trade.  I've  told  you.  I'm 
a  merchant." 

"  Quite  right,  sir,"  said  Tucket.  ll  I'm  a  merchant, 
too.  I'd  be  only  too  glad  to  trade." 

"  They  won't  let  you,"  said  Stukeley.  "  So  why  not 
look  at  the  position  honestly." 

"  Well.  Trade.  Try  it,"  said  Pain.  "  If  you  try 
it,  you'll  get  a  sickener.  Then  you'll  fight  all  the  better, 
after." 

"  They  used  to  trade,"  said  Cammock.  "  I've  known 
a  lot  of  interloping  done.  At  Maracaibo  they 
traded." 

"  They  won't  now,"  Pain  said.  "  Any  man  caught 
trading  without  the  King's  license  is  up  for  the  everlast- 
ing prison  remediless.  You  don't  believe  me.  You 
try." 

"  I  shall  try,"  Margaret  said. 

"  Eight  O,"  said  Pain.  "  Then  we'll  sail  to-morrow. 
Our  two  ships  will  keep  out  of  sight  of  land.  We  could 


274  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

lie  by  among  them  Bernadoes.  You  can  send  in 
samples  with  your  interpreter  in  Captain  Tucket's  sloop. 
If  they  see  a  big  ship  standing  in  they'll  fire  at  her.  So 
send  the  sloop.  They'll  not  listen  to  you.  They'll 
likely  fire  at  the  sloop.  So  the  next  morning  we'll  land 
and  take  the  town.  There's  twenty  pound  a  man  in 
Tolu.  Silver." 

Cammock,  to  give  Margaret  the  cue,  for  he  knew 
that  Pain  held  the  whip  hand,  said  that  he  approved. 
"  That  sounds  like  business,"  he  said.  "  This  is  Tolu, 
Captain  Margaret."  He  pulled  out  a  quarto  pocket- 
book  containing  elaborate  charts  of  many  places  on  the 
Main.  The  book  had  been  the  work  of  many  days, 
and  of  many  hands,  for  some  of  the  charts  had  been 
copied,  some  made  on  the  spot,  some  taken  in  fight, 
others  bought,  or  drawn  from  hearsay,  or  bequeathed. 
It  contained  manuscript  notes  worth  a  lot  of  money  to 
a  good  many  people.  "  This  is  Tolu,  sir.  In  Morros- 
quillo  Gulf  here.  This  long  beach  runs  twenty  miles. 
It's  all  hard  sand,  shelving,  and  shallowish  water  in 
the  gulf.  Then  back  of  the  town  there's  forest.  But 
all  very  flat  land,  as  far  as  Cispata.  Ain't  that  so, 
Pete?" 

"  Flat  as  your  palm.  Them's  nice  maps  you  got, 
Lion." 

"  Yes.  I  got  some  nice  ones  of  these  here  islands. 
Every  anchorage  and  spring  marked.  Basil  done  them. 
You  remember  Basil,  Pete.  He  was  a  very  good 
drawer." 

"  Doctor  Basil  ?  Yes.  He  drawed  a  tooth  of  mine 
once." 

"  Ah  2  Now  as  for  Tolu,  Captain  Margaret.  It's  a 
walled  town.  But  the  only  guns  are  in  the  sea-wall. 
And  the  wall  ain't  much  more  than  gabions.  Not  much 
stone  about  it.  If  it  comes  to  fighting,  we'll  land  on 


THE  LANDFALL  275 

the  beach  away  south  here,  and  creep  up,  wading,  along 
the  beach,  so  as  to  arrive  about  dawn." 

"  Well,  Captain  Pain,"  said  Margaret.  "  We'll  sail 
to-morrow.  We'll  see  which  of  us  is  right." 

He  smiled  pleasantly,  but  his  thoughts  were  bitter. 
He  saw  that  to  succeed  on  the  Main  one  needed  to  be 
one  of  the  crowd.  Pain  there,  the  inscrutable,  pale 
man,  had  long  ago  decided  how  to  use  him.  He,  a 
cultured  gentleman,  with  a  King's  commission,  was  in 
Pain's  hands.  He  must  either  go  with  Pain,  or  lose 
his  crew.  His  crew  would  follow  Pain  at  a  nod.  If 
he  tried  to  coerce  either  Pain  or  his  crew,  he  saw  that 
there  would  be  trouble.  The  Broken  Heart  would  be 
taken  from  him.  He  had  not  thought  of  this  chance; 
but  he  remembered  a  word  of  Cammock's :  "  Give  them 
some  little  success,  and  they'll  do  anything."  If  this 
trading  venture  prospered,  he  could  proceed  to  Jamaica, 
he  could  come  to  some  treaty  with  the  Spaniards,  pledg- 
ing himself  to  put  down  privateering.  If  the  trading 
venture  failed,  then  it  would  rest  with  him  to  make  a 
conquest  of  the  Indies,  to  gather  all  these  thieves  into 
a  company,  and  strike  at  Spain  till  she  tottered.  After 
Tolu,  and  Tolu  would  have  to  be  a  success,  he  would  lead 
them  against  Cartagena.  Then  he  might  be  able  to 
make  a  head.  At  present  he  was  a  "  new  standard." 
He  understood  Pain's  point  of  view.  He  knew  that  he 
must  appear  to  Pain  as  an  uppish  youth  who  thought 
that  he  knew  more  than  old  hands.  He  would  show 
them  that  he  did  know  more. 

"  By  the  way,  Pete,"  Cammock  said,  "  what  come  of 
George  Bond  ?  " 

Pete  laughed.  "  Oh,  him,"  he  said.  "  He  went  to 
Portobel,  and  joined  the  Spaniards." 

"  How  did  the  Spaniards  treat  him  ? "  Perrin  asked. 
He  had  heard  of  that  wild  spirit  from  Cammock. 


2T6  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  Dunno,"  said  Pain  carelessly.  "  Give  him  a  posi- 
tion in  the  Government,  I  heard."  He  turned  to  Cam- 
mock.  "  One  of  Bill  Knight's  lot  was  in  Panama  a 
year  ago,"  he  continued.  "  He  said  he  was  got  to  be 
a  big  one  there." 

"Ah?"  said  Cammock.  "Well.  It's  right,  too. 
There's  very  good  openings  for  a  man  in  a  Spanish 
town  here." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Margaret.  "  I  should  have  thought 
there  was  bitter  feeling." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  sir.  There's  only  the  religious 
trouble." 

"  That  didn't  worry  George  much,"  Pete  said. 

After  this  the  conversation  died  down,  till  Stukeley 
asked  if  a  herald  from  a  landing  party  ran  risk  of  being 
shot. 

"  No,"  said  Pain.  "  I  done  it  two  or  three  times. 
You  go  ashore  under  a  white  flag,  holding  up  your 
hands,  and  then  they  come  and  blindfold  you,  and 
take  you  into  the  town.  Then  you  say  your  piece  to 
the  Governor,  and  then  you  come  back." 

"  Then,"  said  Stukeley,  "  you'd  better  prime  me  now 
in  what  you  want  said,  Maggy.  I  must  have  a  set 
speech  ready  for  anything  the  old  cove  asks  me." 

"  That's  quite  true.  I'm  glad  you  reminded  me. 
We'll  go  into  it.  To-morrow  morning,  then,  Captain 
Pain.  But  I  wish  you  could  have  waited  till  my  ship 
was  scrubbed." 

"  Time  enough, '  Mr.  Margaret,"  Pain  answered. 
"  We'll  careen  her  when  we  come  back." 

He  went  on  deck  with  Cammock,  leaving  Margaret 
to  instruct  Stukeley  in  the  matter  of  his  speech  to  the 
Spanish  Governor.  One  speech,  which  ran,  "  Your 
Excellency,  I  hold  my  King's  commission.  If  you  per- 
mit me  to  trade  here  I  pledge  my  honour  to  assist  your 


THE  LANDFALL  277 

King  against  his  enemies  in  these  seas,"  seemed  to 
Stukelej  to  be  a  pleasant  jest.  He  repeated  it,  grin- 
ning, till  he  had  it  letter  perfect.  Then  he  repeated  it 
in  Spanish,  and  left  the  cabin,  laughing. 

"  Come  back  here  a  moment,  Stukeley,"  Margaret 
called.  "  I've  got  something  I  want  to  say  to  you." 

"  What  now  ?  "  Stukeley  answered. 

"  Stukeley,"  he  said,  "  we're  going  on  a  dangerous 
business  to-morrow.  I  want  you  before  we  leave  the 
ship  to  see  your  wife.  Will  you  do  that  ?  I  don't  want 
to  preach.  I  only  ask  you  to  realize  what  it  might  be 
to  her  if  anything  happened  to  you." 

"  I'll  manage  my  own  relations  with  my  wife,"  he 
answered. 

"  Stukeley,  she's  a  long  way  from  friends.  Life  isn't 
very  sweet  to  her." 

"  I'll  make  it  a  good  deal  sourer  if  you  come  crawling 
round.  Well,  I'll  see  her.  Now  then.  No  more. 
Good  night,  Captain  Maggy." 

The  door  slammed  behind  him  with  a  clatter  of  swing- 
ing hooks.  Margaret  was  alone,  his  face  buried  in  his 
hands,  with  his  world  tottering  about  him,  ready  to 
fall. 


XI 

THE    FLAG    OF    TRUCE 

"  Was  it  not  sin  enough,  and  wickedness, 
Thus  like  a  rotten  rascal  to  abuse 
The  name  of  Heav'n,  the  tie  of  marriage, 
The  honour  of  thy  friends,  the  expectation, 
Of  all  that  thought  thee  virtuous,  with  rebellion^ 
After  forgiveness,  too  ?  " 

The  Woman's  Prize. 

1~N  the  morning,  when  they  were  under  way,  with 
the  two  little  hills  of  Pinos  astern  of  them,  and  the 
ship's  bows  turned  towards  Morrosquillo,  far  to 
the  east,  still  two  days  distant,  Captain  Margaret  sent 
Perrin  to  the  cabin  to  request  an  audience  with  Olivia. 
As  he  had  feared,  she  refused  to  see  him.  She  sat, 
pale  and  exhausted,  at  the  table,  Perrin  said,  too  weary 
of  life  to  ask  whither  they  were  bound,  or  to  ask  the 
nature  of  their  consorts,  now  sailing  easily,  under  re- 
duced sail,  near  the  lumbering  Broken  Heart,  foul  with 
long  weeks  at  sea.  She  did  not  care  what  happened; 
but,  finding  Perrin  importunate,  she  left  the  cabin,  and 
for  two  days  saw  no  one.  On  the  second  day  the  ships 
anchored  between  Ceycen  and  the  Overfalls,  in  a  har- 
bour shut  away  by  wooden  keys,  from  which  the  brooks 
fell  pleasantly,  with  a  rippling  chatter,  that  was  drowsy 
and  delightsome,  after  the  glare  of  the  sun  on  the  sea, 
in  the  hot  calms.  They  loaded  the  sloop  with  samples 
during  the  afternoon,  and  chose  out  hands  to  go  in  her. 
Stukeley  was  to  go  as  herald  and  interpreter,  Margaret 

278 


THE  FLAG  OF  TRUCE  279 

as  principal,  in  case  the  matter  came  to  a  conference; 
while  as  crew  they  picked  ten  from  the  Broken  Heart, 
five  from  Pain,  five  from  Tucket,  all  good  shots,  well 
armed.  Perrin  was  to  stay  aboard  with  Cammock,  so 
that  Olivia  might  have  a  friend  aboard,  in  case  the 
sloop  was  lost. 

After  breakfast,  Margaret  made  a  last  attempt  to 
speak  with  her.  He  entered  the  cabin  unannounced,  to 
find  her  sitting  alone,  in  a  black  gown,  a  Bible  before 
her,  and  her  face  all  pale,  her  eyes  with  dark  rings  round 
them.  She  looked  up  as  he  entered,  then  sank  back, 
closing  her  eyes,  with  a  sharp  intake  of  her  breath. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  me  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  hard 
voice.  "  Have  you  come  to  see  if  —  if " 

"  Olivia,"  he  answered,  "  I've  come  to  tell  you  that 
I'm  going  to  a  town,  now.  There's  danger.  I'm  going 
with.  I  mean.  Your  husband  is  coining.  It's  a  dan- 
gerous service.  I  want  you  to  try  to  realize  that. 
That  your  husband's  going  on  a  dangerous  service. 
That  you  might  like  to  see  him." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  That  I  might  like  to  see 
him.  Go  on." 

"  That  is  all,"  he  said.  "  Except  that  I  may  not  see 
you  again.  That  I  wouldn't  like."  The  words 
dragged ;  his  mouth  was  quite  dry.  He  stumbled  in  his 
speech  and  began  again. 

"  Olivia,"  he  said.  "  My  conduct.  I  thought  I 
acted  for  the  best.  I  ask  you  to  forgive  me." 

"  Forgive  you  ?  "  she  said.  "  Thank  you.  But  I've 
no  wish  to.  You  lied  to  me  from  the  moment  I  came 
into  the  ship.  You  lied  at  Salcombe.  At  Falmouth. 
All  the  voyage.  In  Virginia.  And  then  you  thought 
you  had  lied  enough  for  your  purpose.  You  let  me 
learn  the  truth." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  lied.     I  lied  to  save  you." 


280  CAPTAIN  MAEGAEET 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  with  disgust.  "  You  lied  to  save 
me,  till  it  was  too  late  for  me  to  hear  the  truth." 

"  Olivia,"  he  continued,  "  I  won't  speak  more  of  my- 
self. Your  husband.  I  think  he  wants.  He  wants  to 
see  you.  There  may  be  danger.  He  wants  to  see  you. 
He  wants  to  say  good-bye.  I  am  going  now,"  he  added. 
"  Olivia,  we've  been  in  each  other's  lives  a  long  time. 
Could  you.  Could  you  let  this."  He  stumbled  in  his 
speech  again.  She  did  not  help  him.  His  throat  was 
dry  like  a  kiln ;  he  seemed  unable  to  speak.  "  I  am 
going  now,"  he  said  again.  "  I'll  send  your  husband 
to  you."  He  bowed,  and  left  the  cabin.  As  he  closed 
the  door  he  thought  that  he  could  not  remember  his 
last  sight  of  her.  He  could  not  remember  her  face  as 
it  had  last  looked  upon  him. 

In  the  alleyway  he  met  Stukeley  coming  from  Cam- 
mock's  state-room. 

"  I  was  looking  for  you,"  said  Stukeley.  "  We're 
waiting  for  you.  It's  time  we  went." 

"  Your  wife's  in  the  cabin,"  he  answered.  "  She's 
waiting  for  you.  To  say  good-bye."  As  he  spoke,  the 
cabin  door  opened,  and  Olivia  came  out  into  the  alley- 
way. 

"  Tom,"  she  said,  "  where  are  you  going  with  this 
man  ? " 

"  Hello,  Livy,"  he  answered.  "  I'm  just  going 
ashore,  to  interview  the  Spaniards." 

"  He  says  that  there  is  danger." 

"  Danger  ?  Eubbish.  You  ass,  Maggy.  Why  can't 
you  keep  your  head  shut  ?  " 

"  Oh.     So  perhaps  he  lied  again." 

"  I'll  leave  you,"  Margaret  said,  turning  away. 

"  No.  Do  not  go,"  she  answered.  "  I've  something 
to  say  to  you,  Tom.  I  want  you  to  hear  it,  Charles. 


THE  FLAG  OF  TRUCE  281 

Tom,  there's  danger  in  going  ashore  here.  Oh,  I  know 
it.  I  know  it.  Tom,  dear,  since  we  came  here  there's 
been  something  between  us  always.  Ever  since.  Tom, 
dear,  you  were  afraid  that  I  should  be  angry.  Unfor- 
giving. You  might  have  trusted  me,  Tom.  You  were 
afraid  I  should  hate  you.  I  wasn't  very  wise.  It  was 
so  sudden.  And  I  wasn't  myself,  Tom.  It's  not  too 
late,  dear.  Don't  let  it  be  too  late,  Tom."  She  paused, 
looking  to  her  husband  for  the  answer  she  had  put  into 
his  mouth.  Stukeley  found  it  hard  to  answer.  "  Oh, 
Tom,  I  want  you  back.  I  want  you  back." 

"There,  Livy,"  Stukeley  said.  "There,  Livy." 
He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her.  "  When  I 
come  back,  dear,"  he  added.  "  I  must  go  now.  I'm 
going  ashore." 

"  Don't  go,  Tom.  Oh,  Tom,  don't  go.  There's  dan- 
ger. You  may  be  hurt.  Charles,  tell  him." 

"  It's  all  right,  old  girl.  They  all  swore  there's  not 
the  slightest  danger.  We  shall  be  back  by  four  o'clock 
if  the  wind  holds." 

"  There's  danger,"  Margaret  said. 

"  Tom,  you  wouldn't  leave  me  at  a  moment  like  this." 

"  I  must,  Livy."  A  thought  seemed  to  strike  him. 
"  Look  here,  Livy.  It  must  be  our  first  step  to  —  to  our 
new  life  together.  To  a  new  life  out  here." 

"  Tom,  my  darling,  are  you  sure  there's  no  danger  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  danger.  None.  How  many  more 
times  ?  " 

"  Charles,"  she  said,  "  come  here.  I've  been. 
Been.  Not  myself.  I  spoke  cruelly.  I  want  you  to 
forgive  me,  Charles.  Take  my  hand.  And  yours, 
Tom.  This  is  going  to  be  the  beginning  of  a  new  life 
together.  Will  you  let  it  be  that,  Charles  ?  You  will, 
Tom?" 


282  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom. 

"  It  shall  be  that,"  Margaret  said.  They  shook  hands 
in  the  alleyway,  making  their  bonds  of  peace. 

"  You're  my  Tom  again  now,"  she  said  lowly.  "  I've 
forgotten  all  the  rest,  dear." 

"  Eight,"  he  said,  kissing  her.  "  I  was  a  beast. 
Good-bye,  dear." 

"  Not  a  beast,"  she  said.     "  Never  that." 

Margaret  turned  aside,  crushing  his  hat-brim,  won- 
dering what  new  misery  was  in  store  for  her.  He 
walked  softly  out  on  deck,  leaving  the  two  to  their  fare- 
well. Perrin  said  something  to  him.  Cammock  was 
not  in  sight.  A  little  knot  of  men  stood  in  the  waist, 
idly  watching  the  sloop. 

Presently  Stukeley  came  from  the  alleyway  with  a 
grin  upon  his  face.  "Anything  for  a  quiet  life,"  he 
said.  "  Down  into  the  boat  with  you,  Maggy." 

As  they  shoved  off  from  the  Broken  Heart,  Olivia 
waved  to  them  from  her  state-room  port.  Margaret  felt 
a  pang  of  remorse  that  he  had  not  shaken  hands  with 
Perrin,  nor  spoken  with  Cammock,  before  leaving  the 
ship.  He  was  nearly  alongside  the  sloop  when  he  saw 
Cammock's  hat  above  the  poop  nettings. 

"  He's  hailing  you,  Captain  Margaret,"  said  the  stroke 
oar. 

"  Oars  a  moment."  The  men  lay  on  their  oars, 
watching  the  drops  fall  from  the  blades  into  the  sea. 
The  roar  of  Cammock  sounded. 

"  What  does  he  say  ? "  said  Margaret.  "  I  can't 
make  out." 

"  Something  about  a  map,  I  think  he  said,  sir." 

"  Did  you  hear,  Stukeley  ?  " 

"  Map  or  tap,  or  something.  But  let's  go  on.  We're 
late." 

"  No.     I    must    hear.     Back    a    stroke,    port   oars. 


THE  FLAG  OF  TKUCE  283 

Why,  starboard.  I'll  pull  back  to  find  out.  Way  to- 
gether." 

Fifty  yards  nearer  to  the  ship  they  again  lay  on  their 
oars.  This  time  the  hail  was  clear. 

"  Have  you  seen  my  book  of  maps  ?  " 

"  No,"  Margaret  shouted.  "  You  had  it  in  your 
pocket  last  night." 

"  What's  that  you  say  ?  " 

"  You  had  it  in  your  pocket  last  night." 

"  Yes.     But  I  can't  find  it." 

"  I've  not  had  it.  Ask  Mr.  Perrin."  He  sat  down 
in  his  seat,  Cammock  shouted  a  farewell,  to  which  Mar- 
garet raised  his  hand  in  salute. 

"  He's  lost  his  book  of  maps,"  said  Margaret  to  Stuke- 
ley. 

"  Nothing  can  be  lost  in  a  ship,"  said  Stukeley.  "  Be- 
sides, what's  a  book  of  maps  ?  " 

"  That  book  was  worth  a  good  deal.  The  Spaniards 
would  pay  a  high  price  for  it.  With  all  those  charts 
to  help  them,  they  could  put  down  privateering  when 
they  pleased." 

"  Oh,  rubbish,"  said  Stukeley,  swinging  himself  up 
the  sloop's  side.  "  He  could  easy  get  duplicates." 

The  sloop  was  already  under  sail.  The  men  climbed 
aboard,  and  let  the  boat  drag  astern.  The  helm  was 
put  up  a  little,  the  fore  sheet  was  let  draw.  Soon,  as 
the  boom  swung  over,  straining  the  blocks,  when  the 
mainsail  filled,  they  slipped  clear  the  anchorage.  Look- 
ing over  the  rail,  they  saw  the  nettings  of  the  two  ships 
lined  with  men,  some  of  whom  waved  caps  in  fare- 
well. 

Captain  Tucket  came  to  command  his  sloop.  He 
talked  little;  for  he  was  trying  a  new  dye.  He  was 
boiling  a  handkerchief  in  a  pan  of  herbs,  over  a  little 
brazier  fixed  on  the  deck.  The  experiment  made  him 


284  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

silent;  but  in  moments  of  enthusiasm  he  spoke  a  few 
words,  stirring  the  mess  with  a  fid. 

"  What  colour  are  you  trying  to  get  ? "  Margaret 
asked. 

"  One  of  them  bright  greens  the  Indians  get." 

"  You  never  will,  cap,"  said  the  helmsman.  "  Them 
Indians  use  moss;  a  kind  of  tree  moss.  I've  seed  'em 
do  it." 

"  Well,  if  this  don't  turn  out  a  green,  I'll  wash  in 
it." 

"  What's  the  matter,  Stukeley  ?  Is  anything  the  mat- 
ter ?  "  Stukeley  had  burst  out  laughing  without  appar- 
ent reason. 

"  Nothing's  the  matter,"  Stukeley  answered.  "  I 
was  thinking  of  my  interview  with  the  Governor." 

It  was  high  noon  when  they  arrived  at  Tolu  Road. 
They  hoisted  a  white  flag,  and  stood  in  boldly  till  they 
were  a  mile  to  the  south-west  of  the  town.  Here  the 
sloop  was  hove-to,  while  the  men  prepared  for  their 
journey.  The  six  oarsmen  of  the  whale-boat  stuffed 
loaded  pistols  within  their  shirts,  and  laid  their  muskets 
in  oilskin  cases  below  the  thwarts.  Margaret  and 
Stukeley  sat  in  the  sternsheets,  both  wearing  their 
swords.  Tucket,  who  steered  with  an  oar,  was  armed 
with  pistols.  A  flag  of  truce  was  hoisted  in  the  boat. 
Tucket  told  his  mate  to  keep  a  sharp  look  out  in  the 
sloop,  and  to  run  in  to  pick  them  up  "if  anything  hap- 
pened." Then  the  little  lugsail  was  hoisted,  and  the 
boat  began  to  move  towards  the  town. 

Margaret  was  disappointed  with  himself  as  the  boat 
crept  on  towards  the  town.  He  had  so  often  lived  over 
this  adventure  in  his  fancy  that  the  reality  seemed  tame 
to  him.  He  was  disappointed  with  the  look  of  the  city ; 
it  seemed  but  a  mean  place ;  a  church,  a  fort,  a  few  stone 
houses,  a  gleam  of  red  pantiles  against  the  forest,  and  a 


THE  FLAG  OF  TRUCE  285 

mud  wall  ringing  it  in.  The  bell  tinkled  in  the  belfry, 
tinkled  continually,  jerked  by  a  negro  who  had  had  no 
orders  to  stop.  It  seemed  to  Margaret  that  a  bell  was 
out  of  place  in  that  half-savage  town.  It  was  not  a 
Christian  town.  Those  were  not  Christians  on  the 
beach.  They  were  Indians,  negroes,  convicts,  runa- 
ways, half-breeds.  They  needed  some  bloodier  temple 
than  that  old  church  in  the  square.  They  needed  a 
space  in  the  forest,  lit  by  fires  in  the  night.  They 
needed  the  reek  of  sacrifice  and  the  clang  of  gongs. 
And  this  was  the  place  he  had  sailed  to.  Here  his  life's 
venture  was  to  be  put  to  the  touch.  Here,  in  this 
place,  this  little  old  squalid  city  between  the  sea  and 
the  jungle.  All  the  long  anxieties  were  to  be  resolved 
there.  There  on  the  sand,  beyond  the  spume  of  the 
breakers,  the  doubts  were  to  end.  He  could  not  bring 
himself  to  care.  His  thoughts  ran  on  the  pale  face  of 
Olivia,  on  her  words  to  him,  on  the  possibility  of  a  new 
life  for  her. 

"  Stukeley,"  he  said,  speaking  very  quietly  in  his 
hearer's  ear,  "  look  here.  I  want  to  say  this.  After 
this  business,  if  you  care,  would  you  like  to  settle  in 
Jamaica  or  somewhere?  Or  in  France?  You  and 
Olivia  ?  You  could  draw  on  me,  you  know.  We  could 
start  something  together." 

Stukeley  seemed  to  measure  the  distance  between  the 
boat  and  the  shore.  He  looked  at  Margaret  with  a 
gleam  of  humour  in  his  eyes. 

"  Thanks,"  he  said.     "  I'll  think  it  over." 

"  Very  well,"  Margaret  said.  "  There  comes  the  cap- 
tain. What  strange  little  horses.  Are  they  imported, 
Captain  Tucket  ? " 

"  ISTo,  sir.  This  country  horses.  Imported  horses 
die  of  the  heat,  or  the  change  of  grass.  Beyond  Carta- 
yaina  there's  very  good  horse  country." 


286  CAPTAIN  MAKGARET 

The  rabble  on  the  beach  drew  back  now  towards  the 
town,  handling  their  arms.  Half  a  dozen  horsemen 
rode  as  though  to  meet  the  boat,  almost  to  the  lip  of  the 
sea.  One  of  them,  a  negro,  who  held  his  stirrups  with 
his  toes,  carried  a  pennon. 

u  The  lad  on  the  pinto's  the  capataz,"  said  Tucket  in 
his  beard.  "  Stand  up  with  the  flag  in  the  bows  there. 
Down  sail.  Let  your  oars  swing  fore  and  aft  in  their 
grummets,  ready  to  back  her  off.  Wave  your  flag  of 
truce,  Ed.  Don't  shake  your  pistols  out  though.  Stand 
by,  Captain  Stukeley." 

"  Are  they  friendly,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Sure." 

"  Oh,  Stukeley,"  Margaret  said.  "  This  little  case 
contains  a  ring  for  the  Governor.  Say  that  you  trust 
that  it  may  have  the  felicity  to  fit." 

"  I  will,"  said  Stukeley.  "  They  carry  some  plate  on 
their  headstalls,  don't  they  ?  "  He  put  the  case  in  his 
pocket. 

The  bow  man  waved  his  flag  of  truce,  then  lowered 
it,  and  knelt,  waiting  for  the  shock  of  the  grounding. 
Very  gently,  in  the  wash  of  little  waves  and  slipping 
shingle,  the  boat's  nose  took  the  sand.  Captain  Mar- 
garet stepped  across  the  thwarts,  holding  a  white  cloth 
in  his  hand.  Watching  his  time,  he  leaped  nimbly  be- 
yond the  water,  and  uncovered.  Stukeley  followed  him, 
jumping  clumsily.  It  seemed  to  Margaret,  as  he  turned 
sharply,  thinking  that  the  man  had  fallen,  that  a  book 
in  Stukeley's  inner  pocket  was  surely  Cammock's  map- 
book.  It  half  jolted  out  as  the  coat  flew  open.  It  was 
a  glimpse,  nothing  more.  Perhaps  he  was  wrong.  The 
two  men  stood  uncovered  before  the  horsemen,  who 
watched  them  with  the  grave  eyes  of  animals.  An 
elderly  man  among  the  riders  rode  forward  for  a  pace  or 
two,  uncovering  with  a  gesture  full  of  dignity.  He 


THE  FLAG  OF  TRUCE  287 

had  the  bearing  of  a  soldier.  It  seemed  to  Margaret 
that  the  gesture  explained  the  might  of  Spain.  Stuke- 
ley advanced  towards  the  horseman  with  his  hat  beating 
against  his  knee.  He  spoke  quietly  in  Spanish,  After 
a  few  words,  the  elderly  man  dismounted,  and  the  two 
walked  to  and  fro  together,  talking  with  a  grave  polite- 
ness, which  seemed  to  extend  to  the  listeners,  whether 
they  understood  or  not. 

Presently  Stukeley  bowed  very  low  to  the  captain, 
and  walked  jauntily  to  Margaret.  "  It's  all  right,"  he 
said.  "  I  think  they'll  do  your  business  for  you. 
They're  very  friendly.  They're  going  to  take  me  to  see 
the  Governor." 

"  Am  I  to  come  ?  " 

"  Only  one  man,  he  says.  I  may  have  to  stay  to 
dinner." 

"  You  think  you  run  no  risk  ?  I'm  willing  to  come  if 
you  think  you  run  any.  I  ought  to  share  it." 

"  They're  all  right.  There's  no  risk.  But  he  offers 
a  hostage." 

"  One  of  those  cut-throats  ?  " 

"  It  ain't  very  polite  to  accept.  Eh  ?  I'll  go  alone. 
He  knows  you've  a  commission.  I've  shown  him  that 
duplicate.  It's  all  right.  I'll  go  off  now.  So  long, 
my  Maggy.  Con  Dios,  caballero.  Try  and  keep  warm 
on  the  sands  here." 

He  saluted  the  boat's  crew,  gave  Margaret  a  queer 
glance,  and  rejoined  the  capataz,  who  bowed  to  them 
gravely.  The  negro  with  the  pennon  led  the  dismounted 
horse.  The  capataz  walked  with  Stukeley,  followed  by 
the  other  troopers.  They  went  slowly  towards  the  gate 
of  the  city.  The  troopers  made  their  horses  curvet  and 
passage,  clashing  their  silver  gear.  Margaret  stood  at 
the  lip  of  the  water,  watching  them,  till  they  had  passed 
within  the  gate,  followed  by  the  rabble. 


288  CAPTAIN  MAEGAEET 

The  boatmen  held  that  it  would  not  be  politic  to  re- 
turn to  the  sloop.  "  It  might  seem  as  we  didn't  trust 
them,"  Tucket  said.  So  they  rigged  the  boat-rug  as  an 
awning  over  the  sternsheets,  and  whiled  away  the  time, 
suffering  much  from  the  heat.  It  was  a  stifling  day. 
The  time  passed  slowly,  with  many  calls  for  the  water- 
breaker.  They  made  their  dinner  of  plantains,  then 
smoked,  exchanging  stories,  longing  for  Stukeley's  re- 
turn. Margaret  found  the  time  less  irksome  than  he 
had  expected;  for  Tucket  began  to  talk,  out  of  a  full 
heart,  about  the  subjects  dear  to  him.  He  had  never 
had  such  a  listener  before.  Margaret  drew  him  out, 
with  his  usual  sympathy,  till  the  man's  inmost  life  was 
bare  before  him.  Such  woods  would  take  a  polish,  and 
such  other  woods  would  take  a  stain;  and  such  and 
such  resins,  why  should  they  not  stain  a  wood  to  all 
colours  of  the  rainbow,  if  treated  with  care  in  the  right 
way?  It  would  be  fine,  Captain  Tucket  said,  to  be  a 
chemist,  and  have  nothing  else  to  do  but  to  watch  your 
dye  vats  all  day  long.  Vats  of  indigo,  of  anatta,  of 

cochineal,  all  the  lovely  colours,  and Say.  If  one 

could  get  a  green  that  showed  the  light  in  it,  like  the 
water  breaking  on  a  reef.  The  hours  passed;  it  was 
nearly  three  o'clock ;  but  still  no  Stukeley. 

"  The  Guv'nor  dines  late,"  said  one  of  the  men. 

"  I  guess  it's  difficult  to  get  away  from  the  donnas," 
said  another.  The  others  laughed ;  for  Stukeley's  faults 
were  well  known. 

"  I  dunno,  sir,"  said  Tucket.     "  It  seems  a  bit  odd." 

"  He  seemed  very  sanguine  about  it,"  Margaret  an- 
swered. 

"  I  ain't  much  charmed  with  your  friend  myself,"  said 
Tucket.  "  I  don't  trust  that  Master  Stukeley." 

"  You  don't  think  he's  deserted  ?  Is  that  your  mean- 
ing?" 


THE  FLAG  OF  TRUCE  289 

"  Well,  I  wouldn't  a  trusted  him  to  be  my  interpre- 
ter," Tucket  answered,  with  the  growl  of  one  whose  su- 
perior wisdom,  now  proved,  is  proved  too  late.  "  We 
could  a  give  you  Thomas  Gandy.  He'd  have  done  as 
good.  He  knows  Spanish  just  like  a  book,  Tom  do. 
And  you  could  a  trusted  Tom  with  your  life.  Now  you 
ain't  on  too  good  terms  with  the  Mr.  Stukeley  feller." 

"  Shall  I  go  into  the  town,  then  ?  To  see  if  any- 
thing's  wrong  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  sir.  That's  putting  your  joint  in  the  fire 
to  hot  your  soup.  Stay  here,  sir." 

"  Well,  we'll  wait  a  little  longer.  What  d'you  say  to 
bathing  ? " 

"  It's  not  really  safe,  sir.  There's  cat-fish  on  this 
coast.  Besides,  we  better  not  get  all  over  the  place  like 
shifting  backstays.  Them  Dagoes  might  come  some  of 
their  monkey-tricks." 

"  The  town  is  quiet  enough." 

"  Siesta  time,"  said  one  of  the  men.  "  They  likes  a 
doss  in  the  afternoon." 

"I  dunno  what  to  think,"  Tucket  said.  "But 
't'ain't  too  wholesome,  to  my  mind." 

"  He  said  he  might  be  kept  for  dinner." 

"  He  could  a  sent  word.  Or  they'd  a  sent  dinner 
here.  I've  knowed  Dagoes  do  that.  You  got  good  eyes, 
Ed.  What  d'you  make  of  the  woods  there,  back  of 
the  sand  ?  "  He  turned  to  Margaret.  "  He'd  been  with 
the  Indians  three  or  four  years,  Ed  done.  He  sees 
things  in  brush  like  that,  just  like  an  animal." 

All  hands  stared  into  the  wall  of  green,  which  rose  up 
eighty  yards  away,  beyond  the  line  of  the  sand.  The 
trees  towered  up,  notching  the  sky  with  their  outlines. 
The  sun  blazed  down  upon  them,  till  they  flashed,  as 
though  their  leaves  were  green  steel.  They  made  a  wall 
of  forest,  linked,  tangled,  criss-crossed,  hiding  an  inner 


290  CAPTAIN  MAEGAKET 

darkness.  A  parrot  was  tearing  at  a  blossom  high  up 
on  a  creeper,  flinging  out  the  petals  with  little  wicked 
twists  of  his  head.  He  showed  up  clearly  against  the 
sky  in  that  strong  light. 

"  Nothing  wrong  there,"  said  Ed.  "  Look  at  the  par- 
rot." 

They  looked  at  the  parrot,  and  laughed  to  hear  him 
abuse  the  flower. 

"  They're  the  kind  you  can  learn  to  speak,  sir,"  said 
a  seaman.  "  I've  known  some  of  them  birds  swear,  you 
would  think  it  was  real.  Some  of  them  can  do  it  in 
Spanish." 

"  The  Spaniards  don't  swear,"  said  another  man. 

"  They've  got  caramba,"  said  the  first.  "  Caramba. 
That's  the  same  as  God  damn  is  in  English." 

"  Funny  way  of  saying  it,"  said  the  other. 

"  Some  one's  in  that  brush,"  said  the  man  called  Ed. 
"  See  the  paharo  ?  " 

Something  had  startled  the  parrot.  He  leaped  up 
with  a  scream  from  his  liane,  made  a  half-circle  in  the 
air,  and  flew  away,  wavering,  along  the  coast.  One  or 
two  other  birds  rose  as  quietly  as  moths,  and  flitted 
into  the  night  of  the  wood.  A  deer  stepped  out  on  to 
the  beach  daintily,  picking  her  steps.  She  sniffed  to- 
wards the  town,  listened,  seemed  to  hear  something, 
caught  sight  of  the  boat,  and  fled.  Then  came  a  sudden 
chattering  of  monkeys,  a  burst  of  abusive  crying,  last- 
ing only  for  a  moment. 

"  D'ye  see  anything,  Ed  ?  " 

"  There's  plenty  of  'em,  cap,  I  guess." 

"  Can  you  hear  'em  ?     Lay  your  head  on  the  ground." 

"  The  wash  of  the  sea's  too  loud.  I  can't  hear  noth- 
ing." 

"  They're  coming  from  the  town,  are  they  ?  " 

"  Sure." 


THE  FLAG  OF  TRUCE  291 

"  Is  there  a  road  at  the  back  of  that  wood  ?  "  Margaret 
asked. 

"  No,  sir.  I  guess  not.  The  Dagoes  use  the  beach 
as  a  road." 

"  Yes,"  said  a  seaman.  "  They  go  to  Covenas.  A 
town  along  there.  They  always  go  by  the  beach." 

"  Do  you  know  this  place,  then  ?  " 

"  I  worked  on  them  walls  a  year,  once.  I'd  ought  to 
know  it." 

"  D'ye  make  out  anything  more,  Ed  ?  " 

"  They're  not  far  off  yet,  I  guess,  cap." 

"  Do  you  think  it's  an  ambush,  Captain  Tucket  ? " 
Margaret  asked. 

"  No  saying,  mister.  May  as  well  make  ready,"  he 
answered.  "  We'll  lay  out  our  boat's  kedge  to  seaward, 
so  as  we  can  warp  off  in  a  hurry." 

They  rowed  the  boat  out  into  the  bay,  dropped  their 
kedge,  and  backed  her  stern-first  to  the  beach.  They 
struck  the  awning,  hoisted  sail,  and  laid  their  oars  in 
the  thole-pins.  They  waited  for  another  half-hour, 
watching  the  mysterious  forest. 

"  I  guess  we'll  go  off  to  the  sloop,  cap,"  said  a  sea- 
man. "  He's  give  us  the  flying  foretopsail." 

"  Them  paharos  is  back  among  them  berries,"  said 
Ed.  "  I  guess  it  was  boys  come  for  plantains." 

"  I  dunno,"  said  Tucket.  "  It's  odd  our  man  ain't 
come." 

"  I  must  go  up  to  the  town  to  find  out  about  him," 
Margaret  said.  "  I  can't  wait  like  this." 

"  I  wouldn't,  sir,"  said  Tucket.  "  What  do  you  say, 
boys?" 

"  No,"  said  the  men.     "  No.     It  wouldn't  do." 

"  But  I  got  him  to  go.  I  can't  let  him  get  into  trou- 
ble through  me.  I'm  responsible.  I  must  see  about 
him.  I  can't  go  back  without  him." 


292  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  He's  give  you  the  foresheet,  sir,"  said  one  of  the 
men. 

"  Yes.  The  son  of  a  gun.  I  guess  he  has/'  said  an- 
other. 

"  There's  some  one  in  that  brush,"  said  Ed.  "  Them 
paharos  has  topped  their  booms  for  keeps." 

"  Well,"  said  Margaret,  taking  out  his  white  cloth, 
noting  the  wild,  frightened  flight  of  a  half-dozen  parrots, 
"  I'm  going  to  the  some  one,  to  find  out."  He  leaped 
from  the  sternsheets  into  the  shallow  water,  and  began 
to  wade  ashore,  holding  his  cloth. 

"  Don't  you  try  it.  You  come  back,  sir,"  called 
Tucket. 

Margaret  heard  some  one  (he  thought  it  was  Ed's 
voice)  saying,  "  He's  brave  all  right,"  and  then,  behind 
him,  came  the  click  of  gunlocks.  He  glanced  back,  and 
saw  that  two  of  the  men  in  the  sternsheets  had  taken 
out  their  guns,  while  a  third  man  laid  other  loaded  guns 
ready  to  their  hands.  Ed  called  to  him  as  he  turned. 

"  You  come  back,  sir."  Then,  seeing  that  his  words 
were  of  no  avail,  he  leaped  into  the  water  and  caught 
him  by  the  arm.  "  Back  to  the  boat,  sir,"  he  said. 
"  It's  not  you  only.  It  might  be  us." 

"  I  must  find  out  about  my  friend,"  said  Margaret. 
"  I  can't  leave  him  as  he  is." 

"  Bring  him  back,  Ed.  Make  him  come  back,"  called 
the  boatmen. 

"  jSTow  you  go  back,"  Ed  repeated,  grinning,  "  or  I'll 
have  to  put  you."  He  looked  up  suddenly  at  the  forest. 
"  My  Santa  Marta !  "  he  cried.  "  Into  the  boat.  Here 
they  are."  He  thrust  Margaret  backwards  towards  his 
fellows,  and  instantly  bent  down  to  shove  the  boat  clear. 
Both  were  up  to  their  knees  in  water  at  the  boat's  side. 
Some  one,  it  was  the  man  who  had  worked  in  Tolu, 
leaned  out  and  grabbed  at  Margaret's  collar. 


THE  FLAG  OF  TRUCE  293 

a  Look  out,  sons !  "  cried  Tucket. 

At  the  instant  a  swarm  of  men  burst  from  the  edge 
of  the  forest.  One  or  two  of  them  who  were  mounted 
charged  in  at  a  gallop.  The  others  ran  down,  crying, 
firing  their  guns  as  they  ran.  The  water  about  the  boat 
was  splashed  violently,  as  though  some  one  flung  pebbles 
edgewise  from  a  height.  Margaret  drew  his  sword  and 
turned.  He  saw  a  horse  come  down  within  twenty 
yards  of  him.  Some  one  shouted  "  Crabs  "  derisively. 
Half  a  dozen  fierce  faces  seemed  staring  on  him,  rushing 
on  him,  their  mouths  open,  their  eyes  wide.  There  was 
a  crack  of  guns.  Men  were  falling.  Then  the  wildness 
passed;  he  was  calm  again.  A  Spaniard,  the  rider  of 
the  fallen  horse,  was  in  the  water,  thrusting  at  him  with 
a  lance,  calling  him  cuckold  and  bastard  in  the  only 
English  words  he  knew.  Margaret  knocked  the  lance 
aside  with  difficultly,  for  the  man  was  strong  and  wild. 
His  thoughts  at  the  moment,  for  all  the  danger,  was  "  I 
can't  be  both."  He  wondered  in  that  flash  of  time 
whether  a  man  could  be  both.  All  the  beach  seemed 
hidden  from  him  with  smoke  and  fire  and  the  hurrying 
of  splashing  bodies.  Where  was  Ed  gone  ?  It  was  all 
smoke  and  racket.  He  was  being  hit.  Something 
struck  his  left  arm.  Striking  at  random  at  a  voice  in 
the  smoke,  his  sword  struck  something.  He  dragged 
his  sword  back,  and  slipped  with  the  effort.  He  was  up 
to  his  waist  in  water  for  an  instant,  below  the  smoke. 
He  saw  men's  legs.  He  saw  water  splashing.  Then 
there  was  smoke  everywhere.  Smoke  of  a  hundred 
guns.  A  racket  like  the  chambers  shot  off  at  the  end  of 
Hamlet;  exactly  like.  A  wave  went  into  his  face. 
Some  one  fell  across  him  and  knocked  him  down  again. 
It  was  Ed. 

"  Hold  up,  you  fool,"  Ed  cried.  The  voice  was  the 
high,  querulous  voice  of  the  hurt  man. 


294  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  You're  hit,  Ed,"  he  said,  catching  him  about  the 
body.  His  arm  stung  along  its  length  with  the  effort. 
"  Where  are  you  hit,  Ed  ?  " 

"  Abajo.  Vete  al  carajo,  hi  jo  de  la  gran  puta. 
Cabron !  Mierda !  "  The  words  came  out  of  the  smoke 
like  shots.  The  roar  of  the  battle  seemed  to  be  all  about 
him.  He  backed,  staggering,  to  get  out  of  the  smoke. 
A  half-tamed  horse's  teeth  ripped  the  sleeve  from  his 
hurt  arm,  knocking  them  both  down  again.  Some  one 
jabbed  him  with  a  lance  in  the  shoulder.  He  struck 
the  horse  as  he  rose  half  choked,  still  clutching  Ed. 
The  horse  leaped  with  a  scream.  The  smoke  lifted.  It 
was  all  bright  for  a  moment.  A  mad  horse ;  a  trooper 
swearing;  Ed's  body  like  a  sack  with  blood  on  it;  a 
smoke  full  of  fiery  tongues.  There  was  the  boat  though. 
Then  the  smoke  cloaked  it.  Bullets  splashed  water  in 
his  face.  The  butt  of  a  flung  lance  banged  him  on  the 
side  of  the  head.  The  horse  reared  above  him,  scream- 
ing, floundering  in  foam,  then  falling  heavily.  He  was 
almost  out  of  his  depth  now,  half  swimming,  half  dead, 
lugging  a  nether  millstone.  Blood  was  in  his  eyes,  his 
sword  dangled  from  his  wrist,  his  free  hand  tried  to 
swim.  He  clutched  at  the  boat,  missed,  went  under, 
gulping  salt.  He  clutched  again  as  the  white  side  slid 
away.  His  fingers  caught  upon  the  gunwale,  near  the 
stroke's  thwart.  He  made  the  boat  sway  to  one  side 
a  little.  "  Trim  her,"  said  Tucket,  as  he  hauled,  face 
forward,  on  the  warp.  He  did  not  look  round ;  merely 
trimmed  her  mechanically,  flinging  the  warp's  fakes  aft. 
"  Away-hay-hay-i-oh,"  he  sang.  "  Lively,  Jude,"  said 
another.  "  If  you  fire  like  you  load,  your  bullets  has 
moss  on  them."  Two  of  them  were  firing  sharply,  lying 
behind  the  backboard.  "  Cut,"  cried  Tucket.  There 
was  a  shock  of  chopping  on  the  gunwale.  A  hand 


THE  FLAG  OF  TRUCE  295 

sculled  way  upon  her  with  the  steering-oar  as  the  sail 
filled.  The  midship  oars  were  manned. 

"  Give  me  a  hand  here,  please,"  said  Margaret  weakly. 
"  Catch  Ed." 

"  Lord.  I  thought  you  were  in,"  said  Tucket.  "  Up 
with  him.  Ed's  gone.  Don't  capsize  the  ship,  you. 
I'd  forgot  you  two." 

Margaret  managed  to  scramble  in,  helped  by  the  boat- 
men. Then  he  collapsed  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat  over 
Ed.  He  had  had  a  moving  time.  He  came-to  quickly, 
with  the  taste  of  rum  in  his  mouth  and  a  feeling  of  in- 
tense cold.  His  teeth  chattered ;  he  was  weak  and  sick. 
"  Land  and  bring  off  Stukeley,"  he  said.  "  I  can't  leave 
Stukeley." 

"  We'll  be  in  the  sloop  in  a  minute,"  said  one  of  the 
men.  "  We'll  shift  him  there.  He  got  a  prod  in  the 
shoulder." 

"  How  is  it,  Ed  ?  "  said  another  voice.  "  You're  all 
right." 

"  What's  wrong  with  Ed  ?  "  said  one  of  the  rowers. 

"  Got  a  bat  with  a  stone,  I  guess.  I  can't  see  no  shot 
hole.  Hold  up,  Ed.  You  ain't  dead  yet." 

"  I'm  all  right,"  said  Ed  weakly.  "  That  Margaret 
fellow  fell  all  across  me  and  knocked  me  down." 

"  He  pulled  you  quit  of  the  mix,"  said  Tucket. 
"  Don't  you  forget  it." 

"  He  did,  hell,"  said  Ed. 

Margaret  rose  up  in  the' boat.  "  I  can't  leave  Stuke- 
ley," he  said.  "  Pull  in,  Captain  Tucket,  and  bring 
him  off." 

"You  lie  down,  sir,  and  stay  quiet,"  said  Captain 
Tucket.  "  We'll  be  there  directly." 

One  or  two  of  the  men  tittered.  Margaret  tried  to 
raise  himself  to  look  at  the  land.  He  heard  the  roar 


296  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

of  cannon  from  somewhere  astern.  "  That's  a  heavy 
gun,"  he  said.  "  Who's  firing  a  heavy  gun  ?  "  Then 
he  felt  suddenly  very  tired,  the  boat  and  the  guns  be- 
came blurred  to  him,  he  felt  that  there  were  ships  sail- 
ing into  action,  firing  their  guns  in  succession,  shaking 
with  the  shock.  An  array  of  ships  was  sailing.  There 
were  guns,  guns.  Guns  that  would  never  cease  firing. 
There  was  water  roaring.  No.  Not  water.  Horses. 
Horses  and  ships.  Roaring,  roaring.  They  were  call- 
ing some  one  "  Puta,"  When  he  came-to,  he  was  lying 
below  in  the  sloop,  with  a  cold  mess  on  his  arm  and  a 
fiery  pain  along  his  shoulder. 

"  Is  Mr.  Stukeley  on  board  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Tucket,  drying  his  hands.  "  Mr. 
Stukeley's  ashore.  It's  my  belief  our  Mr.  Stukeley  put 
that  ambush  on  us.  Mr.  Stukeley'll  stay  ashore." 

"  I  must  bring  him  off.  Land  me,  captain.  There's 
his  wife." 

"  You  just  have  a  lap  of  this  lemon-drink,"  said 
Tucket.  "  We  had  about  as  near  a  call  as  may  be.  Ed 
got  a  bat  on  the  head.  You  been  pretty  near  killed. 
There's  a  pound's  worth  of  paint  knocked  off  the  boat. 
Jude's  got  a  slug  in  his  pants.  The  sail's  like  a  nut- 
meg-grater. If  we'd  not  laid  that  warp  out,  the  land- 
crabs  would  be  eating  us  at  this  present.  There's  a 
couple  of  hundred  soldiers  on  the  beach;  besides  the 
guns." 

"  They  came  at  us  in  a  rush,"  said  Margaret.  The 
words  seemed  not  to  come  from  him.  His  meaning  had 
been  to  ask  Tucket  what  had  happened. 

"  That's  why  they  fired  so  wild,"  said  Tucket.  "  They 
rushed.  They  saw  you  and  Ed,  and  thought  they'd 
take  you." 

"  But  Stukeley.  We  must  get  Stukeley.  They  may 
have  killed  him." 


THE  FLAG  OF  TEUCE  297 

"  He's  all  right.     You  settle  off." 

After  some  hours  of  quiet,  Margaret  rose  up,  feeling 
.very  weak.  The  cabin  was  hot  and  foul,  so  he  dressed, 
and  went  on  deck  for  the  freshness.  The  boat's  crew 
were  telling  the  sloop  hands  exactly  what  had  happened. 
Margaret  knew  from  the  way  in  which  they  spoke  to 
him,  from  the  plain  words  of  "  Good  evening,  sir,"  and 
"  I  hope  you're  better,  sir,"  that  he  was,  for  some  rea- 
son, the  hero  of  the  moment.  His  shoulder  pained  him, 
so  he  sat  down,  with  his  back  against  the  taffrail.  A 
sailor  placed  a  coat  behind  him,  so  that  his  rest  might 
be  easy.  Tucket  was  steering.  The  lights  of  the 
Broken  Heart  were  visible  a  couple  of  miles  ahead, 
against  the  mass  of  Ceycen,  which  hid  the  stars  to  the 
north-eastward. 

"  Are  you  dead  yet  ?  "  said  Tucket. 

"  I'm  well,  thanks.  I'm  thinking  of  Mr.  Stuke- 
ley." 

There  came  a  sort  of  growl  of  "  Stukeley  "  from  the 
seamen  about  him.  "  Stukeley,"  they  said.  "  He's  a 
mother's  joy,  the  Portuguese  drummer's  get." 

"  Stukeley,"  said  Tucket.  "  He  put  that  little  quiff 
on  us  on  the  beach.  I  ain't  goin'  to  drown  no  one,  shed- 
ding tears  for  Stukeley." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  the  man  called  Jude.  "  I'd  only 
bought  them  pants  a  week." 

"  Pants,"  said  Tucket.  "  You'd  not  a  wanted  many 
pants  if  Ed  and  Mr.  Margaret  hadn't  been  in  the  water. 
Them  two  in  the  water  made  'em  rush.  If  they'd  come 
slow,  you'd  a  been  a  hit  in  the  neck  with  that  chewed 
slug,  my  son.  Don't  you  forget  it." 

"  Did  anybody  see  Mr.  Stukeley  ?  "  Margaret  asked. 
"  Was  he  in  the  rush  ?  Could  anybody  see  in  the 
smoke  ? " 

"  No,  sir.     No  one  saw  him." 


298  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  Then  why  do  you  think  he,  he  prompted  the  raid  ? 
What  makes  you  think  that  ?  " 

"  They've  always  received  flags  of  truce  before,"  he 
answered.  "  And  you'd  a  commission  besides.  You 
aren't  like  one  of  us.  Why  didn't  they  shoot  when  we 
put  the  son-of-a-gun  ashore?  I'll  tell  you.  They 
thought  we  were  ordinary  flag  of  truce.  That  curly- 
headed  gentleman's  son  put  'em  up  to  it,  after  dinner. 
Why  ?  I  know.  That's  why." 

"  I  can't  see  your  point,"  Margaret  answered.  His 
thought  was  that  he  would  have  a  bad  hour  with  Olivia. 
The  thought  had  no  bitterness;  it  occurred  to  him  sim- 
ply, as  a  necessary  part  of  the  pain  of  moving  from 
the  sloop.  His  shoulder  gave  him  pain;  the  thought 
of  climbing  his  ship's  side  gave  him  pain.  He  had  a 
blurred  feeling  that  he  would  have  to  stand  painfully, 
explaining  to  a  nervous  woman.  He  would  never  be 
able  to  do  it,  he  thought.  He  was  too  stupid  with  pain. 
He  was  feverish.  He  was  tired.  He  would  have  to 
stand  there,  trying  to  be  tender  and  sympathetic,  yet 
failing,  stupid,  blunt.  They  would  have  to  rescue 
Stukeley.  Rescue  him.  "  Yes,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  I'll  rescue  him  for  you.  I'll  bring  him  back  to  you 
from  Tolu,  Olivia."  He  mumbled  and  muttered  as  the 
fever  grew  upon  him.  "  I  wish  all  this  had  never  hap- 
pened," he  said  aloud. 

"  You're  goin'  off  into  the  shakes,"  said  one  of  the 
men,  putting  a  blanket  round  him.  "  You  want  to  take 
bark  in  a  sup  of  rum,  sir,  and  then  turn  in." 

"  Every  one  with  a  green  wound  gets  the  shakes  in 
this  country,"  said  another  man.  "  Now  up  in  Vir- 
ginia you  can  go  from  September  to  May  and  never  have 
'em  once." 

"  There's  a  light  in  the  cabin,"  said  Margaret,  with 
his  teeth  chattering. 


THE  FLAG  OF  TRUCE  299 

"  That's  your  ship  all  right,  sir.  Ahoy,  you ! 
Broken  Heart  ahoy-ah !  " 

"  Ahoy,  you !  "  came  out  of  the  night.  "  Is  that  the 
Happy  Return?  " 

"  We're  the  jolly  come-backs." 

Bells  were  beaten  from  somewhere  in  the  darkness. 
To  Margaret's  throbbing  brain  the  strokes  seemed  to  be 
violent  lights.  He  thought  in  his  fever  that  all  physical 
objects  were  interchangeable,  that  they  all,  however  in- 
different, expressed  with  equal  value  (though  perhaps 
to  different  senses)  the  infinite  intellect  that  was  always 
One.  He  thought  that  the  boat  was  a  thought  of  a 
thought;  and  that  a  ship  and  a  house  were  much  alike, 
very  worthless  the  pair  of  them.  One  should  get  away 
from  these  thoughts  of  thoughts  to  thought  itself.  The 
Broken  Heart  loomed  large  above  him. 

"  Send  down  a  chair,  Lion,"  some  one  said.  "  Mr. 
Margaret's  had  a  nasty  clip." 

"  Easy  now  with  the  chair,"  said  Cammock's  voice. 
"  Is  Mr.  Stukeley  there  ?  " 

"  He's  swallowed  the  killick,"  said  Tucket,  with  a 
hard  laugh. 

"  He's  got  my  map-book,  then,"  said  Cammock. 
"  He's  gone  with  my  map-:book." 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret,  getting  out  of  the  chair. 
"  Your  map-book.  It's  in  his  pocket.  I  think  I  saw 
it  there." 

"  Lean  on  me,  sir,"  said  Cammock.  "  The  lady's  ex- 
pecting you.  She's  sitting  up  in  the  cabin." 

"  Let  me  go.  You  turn  in.  I'll  break  it  to  her," 
Perrin  said. 

"  No.  I  must  go,"  Margaret  answered.  "  How  has 
it  been  here,  captain  ?  "  Feverish  as  he  was,  he  felt 
that  he  had  been  away  for  many  days.  The  ship  was 
strange  to  him. 


300  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  I've  been  throwing  the  ship  overboard,  looking  for 
my  maps,"  Cam  mock  answered.  "  How  is  your  hurt, 
sir?  When  you  talk  to  the  lady,  you  had  better  have 
a  drop  of  something.  Just  stop  at  my  cabin  for  a  mo- 
ment." 

He  fetched  wine  and  bark  from  his  cupboard.  Then 
the  three  men  entered  the  cabin,  where  Olivia  stood 
expectantly,  her  cheeks  flushed,  waiting  for  her  hus- 
band's return.  She  had  made  the  most  of  her  beauty 
for  him.  She  had  decked  herself  out  with  an  art  that 
brought  tears  to  Perrin's  eyes.  She  had  done  her  best, 
poor  beauty,  to  keep  the  heart  which,  as  she  thought, 
she  had  won  back  again.  Looking  at  her,  as  she  stood 
there,  Perrin  learned  that  Stukeley  had  commended  a 
slip  of  black  velvet  round  her  throat,  that  he  had  praised 
her  arms,  that  he  liked  the  hair  heaped  in  such  a  fashion, 
with  a  ribbon  of  such  a  tone  of  green.  He  guessed  all 
this  at  a  glance,  telling  himself  that  he  must  never  again 
speak  of  these  things  to  her.  And  the  poor  girl  had 
rouged  her  cheeks,  to  hide  the  paleness.  She  had  pen- 
cilled her  eyebrows.  She  had  drunken  some  drug  to 
make  her  eyes  bright.  In  the.  soft  light  of  the  lamp  she 
looked  very  beautiful.  She  stood  there,  half-way  to  the 
door,  waiting  for  the  lover  of  her  love-days  to  take  her 
to  his  heart  again. 

"  Where  is  Tom  ?  "  she  said.  "  You're  hurt,  Charles. 
Where's  Tom  ?  He  isn't  killed  ?  He  isn't  killed  ?  " 

"  He  went  into  the  city,"  said  Margaret  dully. 

"  He  went  into  the  city."  His  teeth  chattered  and 
clicked;  he  seemed  to  have  been  repeating  his  phrase 
for  hours.  "  Into  the  city,"  he  repeated.  He  was  ill, 
really  ill.  He  was  in  a  dream  of  fever.  He  was  dream- 
ing, he  was  in  a  nightmare,  giving  a  message  in  that 
dream-speech  which  none  comprehend  save  the  speaker. 

"  Ho  went  into  the  city,"  said  Olivia  slowly.     She 


THE  FLAG  OF  TEUCE  301 

sank  backwards,  till  she  leaned  against  the  bulkhead, 
her  arms  straying  out  along  the  beading.  "  But  he 
came  back.  He  came  back." 

"  No,  ma'am/'  said  Cammock  gently.  "  He  didn't 
come  back." 

"  He's  not  killed  ?  Not  dead  ?  Oh,  can't  one  of  you 
speak  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Margaret.  "  We  waited.  He 
went  into' the  city  with  them." 

"  They  made  friends,"  said  Perrin.  "  Your  hus- 
band went  with  the  Spaniards." 

"  Oh,  won't  you  tell  me  what  has  happened  ?  " 

"  They  waited  in  the  boat,  ma'am,"  said  Cammock. 
"  But  your  husband  didn't  come  back.  And  then  the 
Spaniards  attacked  the  boat.  Captain  Margaret  was 
wounded." 

"  And  you  came  away  without  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Olivia.     He's  in  the  city." 

"  Oh,  my  God,  my  God.  But  don't  you  know  if  he 
is  dead  or  alive  ?  " 

"  JSTo,  Olivia/'  said  Margaret. 

"  Charles  was  landing  to  find  him  when  the  Spaniards 
attacked,"  said  Perrin.  "  He  was  wounded.  They 
wounded  him,  Olivia." 

"  You  left  him,  alone,  Charles.  Alone.  To  be 
killed." 

"  We'll  bring  him  back,  Olivia.  We  can  win  him 
back." 

"  Oh,  but  he  may  be  killed.  He  may  be  killed.  He 
may  be  dead  now." 

"  Beg  pardon,  ma'am,"  said  Cammock.  "  We  think 
he's  gone  over  to  the  Spaniards,  with  my  book  of  charts 
as  Basil  draw." 

"  You  think  he's  left,  left  us.  You  think,  Charles. 
Do  tell  me.  Tell  me." 


302  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  They  think  he's  gone  into  the  city,  Olivia,"  Mar- 
garet said,  "  to  tell  the  Spaniards  of  our  plans.  Into 
the  city,  Olivia.  We  saw  him  go  into  the  city  a  long 
time  before.  They  think  he  caused  the  attack  on  us. 
In  the  water.  It  was  like  a  bad  dream.  Don't.  Don't. 
I'll  bring  him  back,  Olivia.  We'll  bring  him  back  to- 
morrow." 

"  I'm  quite  calm,  Charles,"  said  Olivia  in  a  shaking 
voice.  "  I'm  quite  calm.  Look  at  my  hand  here.  You 
see." 

"  Sit  down,  Olivia,"  Margaret  said.  "  There.  In 
this  chair.  I  want  to  say  this.  He  went  into  the  city 
walking  with  the  captain  of  the  garrison.  The  negro 
had  his  stirrup  in  his  toes.  They  were  to  dine  with  the 
Governor.  They  were  friends.  He  told  me  himself. 
Your  husband  told  me  they  were  friends.  After  the 
siesta  they  ambushed  us.  Oh,  my  God.  They  offered 
a  hostage  even.  And  your  husband  advised  me  to  refuse 
it." 

"  And  you.  think,"  Olivia  said,  "  that  Tom,  my  hus- 
band  "  She  paused.  Then  gave  way  to  the  run- 
ning gamut  of  shaking  sobs,  her  head  on  the  table. 
"  Oh,  Tom,  Tom,  come  back  to  me.  Come  back  to 
me." 

"  It  was  after  he  had  dined  with  the  Governor  that 
they  ambushed  us,"  Margaret  repeated,  "  And  I  saw 
Cammock's  map-book  in  his  pocket." 

"  But  he'd  no  thought  of  it,"  she  cried.  "  Only  this 
morning.  Only  this  morning.  It  was  so  sweet.  Oh, 
he'd  no  thought  of  it  this  morning.  None.  You  know 
he  had  none." 

"  Of  course,  no  one  knows,"  said  Perrin.  "  He  may 
be  only  a  prisoner." 

"  They  never  kill  prisoners,"  said  Cammock.  "  Be 
easy  as  to  that." 


THE  FLAG  OF  TRUCE  303 

"  And  he's  left  me,"  she  sobbed.  "  Oh,  but  I  know 
he  loves  me.  It's  not  that.  I  know  he  does.  I  know 
he  does.  Oh,  Charles.  What  makes  you  think.  I'm 
quite  calm  again.  I  can  bear  it  all.  I'm  calm.  What 
makes  you  think  that  he's  gone  ?  " 

"  One  or  two  things  he  asked.  He  was  asking  about 
life  with  the  Spaniards.  And  his  manner." 

"  Charles,  did  you  suspect  him  ?  Did  you  expect 
this  when  you  chose  him  ?  Chose  him  yesterday  ?  " 

Margaret  sat  down  at  the  table,  looking  at  her  stu- 
pidly, his  face  all  drawn. 

"  Charles,  you  didn't  suspect  him  ?  You  thought  of 
this." 

Margaret  burst  out  crying,  with  the  tearless  grief  of 
an  overwrought  man.  "  I  wish  all  this  had  never  hap- 
pened," he  said.  "  I  wish  it  had  all  never  happened. 
Never  happened."  He  checked  himself,  half  aware,  in 
the  misery  of  his  fever,  that  he  had  to  answer  Olivia. 
"  I  don't  know  what's  the  matter  with  me  to-night,"  he 
said.  "  I've  got  such  white  hands.  Such  white  hands, 
like  a  girl."  He  laughed  in  a  shrill,  silly  cackle.  "  You 
must  think  me  a  silly  girl,"  he  said. 

"  Charles,"  Olivia  cried. 

"I'm  all  right,"  he  said.  "I'm  all  right."  He 
pulled  himself  together  with  an  effort.  "  Look  here," 
he  said.  "  Here.  I  oughtn't  to  have  let  him  go  alone. 
It  was  my  fault.  All  my  fault.  Into  the  city  alone. 
You  say  I  thought  of  this.  Never  entered  my  head. 
Never.  I'm  talking  like  a  drunk  man.  What's  the 
matter  with  you?  No.  It  was  my  fault.  But. 
Olivia.  Olivia.  Don't.  Don't  cry.  We'll  get  him 
back.  We'll  take  Tolu.  I  swear  I'll  take  Tolu.  I'll 
bring  him  back  to  you,  Olivia.  Only.  You  don't  mean 
what  you  said  then."  He  sank  back  in  his  chair.  "  I 
think  I'm  tired,"  he  added  weakly. 


304  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

Olivia  was  on  her  knees  at  his  side,  pressing  his  hand 
to  her  heart. 

"  Charles,"  she  said.  "  Charles,  you're  hurt.  You're 
hurt.  Wounded.  I  didn't  mean  that,  Charles.  I  was 
upset.  But.  Oh,  you'll  bring  him  back.  Bring  him 
back  to  me." 

"  I'll  bring  him  back  to  you,  Olivia,"  he  answered, 
stroking  her  hand.  "  I'll  bring  him  back."  He  raised 
her  from  the  deck.  "  And  I'll  help  him  to  that.  To 
what  you  talked  of.  This  morning." 

"To?" 

"  The  new  life  together,"  he  whispered.  "  Oh,  Lord, 
Olivia.  Stop  those  guns.  Stop  those  guns.  They're 
red-hot." 

From  very  far  away,  in  the  heat  of  the  battle,  in  the 
smoke  and  trampling,  where  the  triumphing  horses 
laughed,  he  seemed  to  hear.  Olivia's  voice. 

"  My  God.  I've  kept  him  here.  And  he's  wounded. 
Edward.  Edward.  Is  he  dead  ?  " 

"  Help  me,  captain,"  said  Perrin's  voice.  "  You've 
kept  him  on  the  rack,  Olivia." 

"  Don't  say  that,"  she  said.  "  Lay  him  on  my  bed. 
That'll  be  quieter.  I  must  nurse  him.  Let  me  have 
some  bark  and  limes,  Captain  Cammock.  Lay  him 
down  there.  Now  some  cold  water." 

He  was  half  conscious  of  being  lifted  out  of  the  light, 
while  a  multitude  of  Spaniards  charged  him.  He  saw 
the  faces,  he  saw  the  horses'  heads  flung  back,  and  the 
foam  spatting  their  bit-cups.  He  was  slashing  at  spear- 
heads, which  pressed  in  a  crown  of  points  about  his 
skull.  After  that,  he  fell  into  the  wildness  of  fever,  see- 
ing that  endless  vision  in  his  brain,  the  endless,  dis- 
ordered procession  of  soldiers,  and  guns,  and  ships, 
which  shouted  crabbed  poetry,  poetry  of  Donne,  difficult 
to  scan,  exasperating :  — 


THE  FLAG  OF  TEUCE  305 

"  Men  of  France," 

the  procession  shouted, 

"  changeable  chameleons, 
Spitals  of  diseases,  shops  of  fashions." 

So  he  lay,  for  many  hours,  feverish  and  sick,  rambling 
and  incoherent. 

He  was  ill  for  some  days,  during  which  Olivia  nursed 
him  tenderly.  She  found  in  the  vigil  a  balm  for  her 
own  sorrow,  a  respite  from  the  anxieties  which  ate  her 
heart.  The  uncertainty  made  it  worse  for  her.  She 
would  fall  asleep,  sitting  uneasily  in  the  chair  by  the 
bed,  to  dream  of  her  husband  lying  in  the  earth,  among 
the  roots  of  the  creepers,  the  mould  in  his  eyes.  Or 
she  would  see  him  chained  to  a  log,  working  in  the  gang, 
carrying  mud  bricks  to  the  walls,  or  singing,  like  the 
man  in  Cammock's  tale,  with  whip-cuts  on  his  body. 
Sometimes,  in  the  worst  dreams,  she  saw  him  with  the 
veiled  figure  of  a  woman,  and  woke  crying  to  him  to 
come  back  to  her,  knowing  herself  deserted.  She  had 
at  first  prayed  that  the  men  would  attack  Tolu  at  once, 
to  bring  him  back  to  her.  The  point  had  been  debated 
among  the  captains.  But  Perrin,  at  his  best  now,  with 
his  quiet,  clumsy  sympathy,  had  shown  her  that  this 
was  not  possible. 

"And  see,  Olivia,"  he  said,  "they  must  expect  us. 
And  we  must  run  no  risk  of  failure.  You  see,  don't 
you,  what  a  danger  it  would  be  to  him  if  we  tried  and 
failed  ?  And  the  town  will  be  full  of  .troops  for  the  next 
week  or  two,  expecting  an  attack." 

There  were  other  good  reasons  against  instant  action. 
Cammock  was  sure  that  the  Spaniards  would  send  a 
force  against  the  lurking-places  along  the  Main,  now 
that  they  had  his  charts  as  guides.  Other  captains 
thought  this  possible;  so  the  word  was  given  to  return 


306  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

to  Springer's  Key.  After  their  arrival,  they  prepared 
the  fort  against  attack,  and  warned  all  privateers  at 
the  frequented  anchorages.  Then,  having  time,  they 
careened  the  Broken  Heart,  washing  her  with  lime  till 
she  had  something  of  her  old  speed  again.  Other  pri- 
vateers joined  them  when  they  heard  that  they  intended 
to  take  Tolu.  Margaret,  sitting  in  the  cabin,  a  convales- 
cent, talked  of  his  plans  with  Olivia.  Many  of  the 
buccaneers  were  employed  ashore,  making  long  "  dug- 
out "  canoas  for  the  attack.  He  pointed  to  one  of  these, 
as  it  lay  bottom  up  on  the  sand,  while  the  seamen  tarred 
it  against  the  worm. 

"  I  expect  we  shall  bring  your  husband  off  in  that 
one,"  he  said. 

"Yes?"  she  answered.  '^But  I've  been  thinking, 
Charles,  that  I  shall  never  see  Tom  again.  " 

"  What  reasons  have  you  ? "  he  asked.  "  Look, 
Olivia,  I've  been  thinking  it  over.  There  is  so  much 
possible  to  you.  Your  husband  would  be  happy  at  a 
kind  of  life  I've  planned  for  him.  On  a  sugar  estancia 
in  Jamaica.  Or  one  of  the  big  plantations  here,  as  soon 
as  the  ground  is  cleared." 

"  Charles,"  she  said,  "  the  plantations  here  will  n^ver 
be  cleared.  You've  been  dreaming.  I've  been  dream- 
ing. And  I  shall  never  see  Tom  again." 

"  You  were  always  the  despondent  one  in  the  old 
days,"  he  said  lightly;  then,  growing  grave,  he  added, 
"  Olivia,  all  the  voyage,  I  helped  your  dreams.  I  lied 
to  you.  All  the  voyage  long,  I  lied.  I  longed  to  spare 
you.  I  could  see  no  better  way." 

"  I  was  a  great  fool,  you  thought." 

".  No  love  is  folly,"  he  answered.  "  But  now  I  see 
what  is  possible.  After  a  wreck  one  finds  the  planks 
loose  for  a  raft." 

"  You   think   that,    Charles  ?     A   woman   finds   no 


THE  FLAG  OF  TRUCE  307 

planks,  as  you  call  them.  Do  you  think  my  life  can  be 
patched  up  by  planks  ?  Do  you  know  why  I  pray  for 
you  to  go  to  Tolu  ?  " 

"  To  restore  your  husband  to  you." 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  I've  been  thinking,  Charles.  I 
want  you  to  go  to  Tolu  to  restore  Captain  Cammock's 
book.  That  is  the  first  thing.  And  to  make  you  sure 
that  he  isn't  —  that  he  wasn't  killed  in  your  service.  I 
know  what  you  will  find  at  Tolu,  Charles.  He's  not  my 
husband  now.  I  see  him  too  clearly.  He's  forgotten 
us  all  by  this  time.  Oh,  you  know  he  has." 

"  One  has  no  right  to  say  that." 

"  It's  strange  how  a  ship  alters  one's  judgments,"  she 
said,  with  a  little  laugh.  "  I  used  to  be  afraid  of  you. 
I  couldn't  bear "  . 

"  We  were  in  the  way,"  he  answered. 

"  I  was  in  a  dream.  A  bad  dream.  Now  it's  over." 
She  shuddered,  turning  her  head  aside. 

"  No,  Olivia.  Not  that,"  he  said.  "  Life  isn't  over. 
I  can't  talk  to  you  as  I  should.  My  wound  makes  me 
stupid.  You  don't  know  men,  Olivia.  Men  are  selfish, 
brutal,  greedy.  You  were  never  told  that.  You  never 
saw  that  side  of  them.  It's  only  one  side.  I've  no 
right  to  talk  to  you  like  this;  but  I'm  your  guardian 
here.  Now  suppose.  Men,  even  lovers,  aren't  single- 
natured,  like  women.  Suppose  a  man  saw  a  woman  in 
his  better  moment,  saw  how  beautiful  and  far  above 
him  she  was,  and  loved  her  for  that  moment,  truly, 
before  falling  back  to  his  old  greeds." 

"  Love  is  not  like  that." 

"We're  talking  about  life,  Olivia.  The  moment  of 
love  was  worth  while  to  both  of  them." 

"  To  myself  and  to  my  husband  ? " 

"  Yes.     If  you  care  to  put  it  that  way." 

"And  now?     What  now?" 


308  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  Now  that  you  know,  Olivia,  you  know  that  it's  not 
all  greed,  any  more  than  it  is  all  love.  You've  seen  a 
man's  weakness.  His  sin,  even.  You've  seen  the  part 
of  him  he  hid  from  you.  We  all  have  a  skeleton  to 
hide." 

"  I'm  not  to  be  moved  by  sophistry,  Charles." 

"  Ship  life  tries  the  nerves,  Olivia." 

"  Are  you  pleading  for  him  now,  Charles  ?  " 

"  Olivia,  don't  let  me  hurt  you  by  discussing  your  hus- 
band. But  did  you  ever  realize  him  ?  " 

"  Yes.     I  suppose  I  did." 

"  He  was  unlike  any  man  you  had  ever  seen.  Ah. 
Don't  answer.  I  know  you  too  well,  Olivia.  I  know 
all  this," 

"  It  seems  a  long  time  ago,"  she  said  coldly.  She  was 
pulling  a  little  arnotto  rose  to  pieces,  petal  by  petal, 
crushing  the  petals  till  her  finger-tips  were  stained  and 
scented. 

"  You  never  realized  him,  Olivia.  I  never  realized 
him.  I  did  not  know  in  Salcombe  that  day  that  he  is  a 
man  with  a  frightful  physical  energy.  On  shore  he 
could  work  it  off.  It's  not  easy  to  say  this.  But  at  sea, 
in  a  ship,  shut  up  here,  it  turned  inward.  Do  you  see, 
Olivia?" 

"  Does  that  excuse  a  man  ?  That  he  has  a  frightful 
physical  energy,  and  that  it  turns  inward  ?  " 

"  I've  nothing  to  do  with  excuses.  But,  suppose 
that  that  was  the  case.  Suppose,  too,  that  he  had  but 
a  moment  to  decide  in  Salcombe,  between  a  lie,  you, 
and  the  possibility  of  a  new  life,  and  the  truth,  arrest, 
and  the  certainty  of  disgrace.  He  chose  you,  the  lie, 
and  the  possibility.  He  lied  to  you.  The  moment  he 
told  the  first  lie,  you  became,  in  his  eyes  in  a  sense,  an 
enemy  to  beware  of,  an  enemy  who  must  be  kept  from 
the  truth  at  all  costs." 


THE  FLAG  OF  TRUCE  309 

"  Yes.  I  have  seen  that,  of  course.  And  the  lie 
grew  all  through  the  voyage." 

"  He  was  afraid  to  run  the  risk  of  losing  you,  by 
telling  you  the  truth." 

"  That  was  not  much  of  a  compliment  to  me,  was  it  ?  " 

"  All  through  that  voyage,  Olivia,  we  were  in  terror 
of  being  arrested  on  arrival.  It  was  in  our  thoughts 
night  and  day.  We  used  to  sit  in  my  cabin  there, 
planning  what  we  could  do,  if  we  found  a  warrant 
waiting  for  us.  The  strain  made  him  reckless." 

"  Why  should  it  have  made  him  reckless  ?  " 

"  Because  there  was  no  one  on  board,  except  a  few 
inferiors,  who  could  console  him.  He  could  not  confide 
in  you.  He  had  lied  to  you.  We  were  not  his  sort. 
There  was  no  one  else  to  whom  he  could  turn." 

"  Except  some  inferiors,  to  whom  he  turned." 

"  Yes,  Olivia." 

"  And  you  could  watch  this,  without  a  word,  without 
attempting  to  put  the  matter  right." 

"  Your  husband  wished  to  spare  you,  Olivia.  We 
could  not  speak.  We  thought.  We  thought  you  were 
going  to  have  a  child." 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  breathing  hard,  "  I  understand 
now." 

"  All  through  the  voyage,  your  husband  was  probably 
thinking  that  you  would  soon  learn,  and  that  when 
you  learned  you  would  have  nothing  more  to  do  with 
him.  Imagination  is  rare  in  men.  He  could  think  of 
no  other  possibility.  He  made  up  his  mind  that  you 
wo  aid  cast  him  off,  and  therefore  he  cast  you  on  with- 
out giving  you  a  chance  to  do  otherwise.  Imagination 
is  rare  in  women,  Olivia,  and  you  could  not  see  his  point 
of  view,  any  more  than  he  could  see  yours." 

"  You  think  I  was  proud  and  unforgiving.  I  have. 
It.  If  he'd  turned  to  me.  And  he  left  me  that  morn- 


310  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

ing  with  a  stolen  book  in  his  pocket,  intending  to  see  us 
no  more." 

"  Ah.  We  see  now  all  that  can  come  of  a  hasty 
moment."  He  rose  from  his  seat  and  stood  before  her. 
"  Olivia,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  extenuate.  I've  tried  to 
explain.  Perhaps  neither  of  you  saw  very  clearly. 
After  Tolu,  Olivia,  there's  a  life  possible  for  you.  You 
haven't  plumbed  each  other's  natures.  You  haven't 
really  lived  yet.  A  fool's  paradise  isn't  life.  You 
don't  know  what  you  may  make  of  each  other's  lives. 
He  had  not  much  chance,  with  that  ghastly  business 
hanging  over  him.  You  had  none.  Could  you  not 
start  fair,  after  Tolu  ? "  She  pulled  the  remaining 
rose  leaves  from  the  arnotto,  one  by  one.  "  It's  worth 
it,  Olivia." 

"  Thank  you,  Charles,"  she  said  quietly.  She  walked 
slowly  to  her  state-room. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  to  himself,  after  she  had  gone.  "  Yes. 
It's  the  best  thing." 


XII 

THE   END 

"The  rust  of  arms,  the  blushing  shame  of  soldiers." 

The  Tragedy  of  Bonduca. 

"  Let's  sit  together  thus,  and,  as  we  sit, 
Feed  on  the  sweets  of  one  another's  souls." 

A  Wife  for  a  Month. 

"A  fair  end 
Of  our  fair  loves." 

The  Elder  Brother. 

TEN  weeks  passed  before  they  felt  the  time  ripe 
for  their  attack.  By  that  time  Margaret  had 
made  a  good  recovery;  his  wound  was  well 
healed  over ;  he  could  even  use  the  arm  a  little.  Before 
leaving  the  anchorage,  he  put  more  guns  in  the  fort,  and 
chose  out  a  garrison  to  fight  them.  He  had  every  reason 
to  be  pleased  with  his  success.  A  large  part  of  Spring- 
er's Key  had  been  cleared,  under  his  direction,  for  plan- 
tain-walks and  vanilla-patches,  as  well  as  for  Indian 
corn.  More  than  a  hundred  more  privateers  had  come 
to  him,  and  he  had  planned  with  Tucket  to  load  the 
Broken  Heart,  on  his  return  from  Tolu,  at  a  new  log- 
wood forest,  never  yet  cut,  on  the  banks  of  the  Azucar. 
He  felt  happier  than  he  had  felt  since  leaving  England ; 
for  now  his  way  seemed  clear.  His  old  suspicion  of 
Pain  had  gone.  Pain's  men  had  worked  like  slaves  to 
clear  the  key  for  culture.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was 
going  to  succeed  after  all,  and  that  he  would,  as  he  had 

311 


312  CAPTAIN  MAEGAEET 

planned,  make  something  of  the  wasted  energies  of  the 
men  of  the  account.  He  had  even  started  Tucket  on  a 
dye-works,  with  half  a  dozen  cauldrons,  and  a  bale  of 
cotton  for  experiments.  The  huts  of  the  Indians  had 
been  altered  and  enlarged.  Springer's  Key  Town  was 
now  a  walled  city,  with  a  few  wooden  shops,  where  the 
Broken  Heart's  goods  were  sold  for  gold-dust.  His 
thoughts  ran  much  upon  gold-dust ;  for  the  rivers  were 
full  of  it,  according  to  the  privateers.  He  went  up  the 
Conception  Eiver  with  some  Indians  and  a  party  of 
Pain's  men,  during  the  last  of  the  weeks  of  waiting,  to 
look  for  gold-dust  in  the  sands.  They  washed  with 
sieves  in  several  likely  places,  finding  about  six  ounces 
in  all.  The  Indians  said  that  there  was  more  higher  up, 
in  the  rapid  upper  reaches,  in  the  torrents  of  the  Six 
Mile  Hills,  away  to  the  south.  On  the  way  downstream, 
he  cut  a  bundle  of  mangrove,  thinking  that  the  bark 
might  be  of  use  to  tanners  in  Europe,  since  the  Indians 
dressed  hides  with  it.  The  damp  heat  of  the  Isthmus 
overcame  him.  He  saw  that  nothing  could  be  done 
there.  No  Europeans  would  ever  do  much  in  such  a 
climate.  But  at  sea  in  the  bright  Samballoes,  where 
the  winds  blew  steadily,  never  dying  to  a  calm,  he  felt 
that  much  could  be  done.  He  offered  bounties  to  all 
who  would  clear  patches  for  tobacco,  arnotto,  cochineal, 
and  indigo.  Tucket,  a  steady,  shrewd  man,  who  saw 
a  chance  of  doing  what  he  had  always  longed  to  do, 
helped  him  ably.  The  dye-works  occupied  their  morn- 
ings together.  The  rest  of  the  day,  after  the  noon  heat, 
was  passed  in  the  supervision  and  encouragement  of  the 
citizens.  The  brush  at  Tolu,  and  the  bringing  off  of 
Ed,  had  made  him  popular.  He  found  that  the  pri- 
vateers were  fairly  well  disposed  towards  him.  Even 
the  inscrutable  Pain  seemed  friendly. 

It  was  not  an  easy  matter  to  rule  such  citizens.     He 


THE  END  313 

began  by  making  a  rough  division  of  labour.  Those 
who  loved  hunting  went  in  parties  daily  to  the  Main  to 
hunt.  Those  who  liked  to  work  in  the  islands  cut  and 
cleared  jungle,  planted  plantains,  tobacco,  or  arnotto. 
Others  took  boats  and  fished.  Some  built  huts  or 
canoas.  Some  dug  wells  and  trenches  to  supply  the 
plantations.  Many  Indians  came  to  them.  Springer's 
Key  knew  a  few  weeks  of  bustling  prosperity.  Mar- 
garet began  to  worry  about  another  problem  —  the  sex 
problem,  the  problem  of  wives  for  his  settlers.  Whera 
was  he  to  get  white  wives  for  three  hundred  men  ?  How 
was  he  to  avoid  the  horrors  of  the  mixed  races  ?  He 
remembered  in  Virginia  the  strange  and  horrible  colonial 
mixtures,  the  mixtures  of  white  with  red,  white  with 
black,  black  with  red,  red  with  all  the  mixtures,  black 
with  all  the  mixtures,  creatures  of  no  known  race,  of 
no  traditions,  horrible  sports,  the  results  of  momentary 
lusts,  temporary  arrangements.  One  could  buy  white 
transported  women  in  Jamaica  at  thirty  pounds  apiece. 
One  could  buy  redemptioners  in  Virginia  for  the  same 
sum.  Many  of  the  men  at  work  about  him  had  done 
so,  during  their  lives  in  the  colonies.  But  how  was  a 
nation  to  be  born  from  convicted  thieves,  petty  larceii- 
ists,  bawds,  procuresses,  women  burnt  in  the  hand, 
branded  women  ?  He  resolved  to  hurry  home  as  soon 
as  the  plantations  began  to  bear,  as  soon  as  the  Spaniards 
began  to  recognize  his  rights.  He  must  get  settlers, 
honest,  reputable  settlers.  He  would  have  to  search 
England  for  them,  hundreds  of  them,  so  that  the  bright 
Samballoes  might  become  the  world's  garden.  He  began 
to  know  the  islands  now.  He  saw  them  in  all  their 
beauty,  Venices  not  yet  glorious,  sites  for  the  city  of 
his  dream.  They  shone  in  their  blossoms,  hedged  by  the 
surf,  splendid  in  their  beauty.  Among  these  hundreds 
of  islands,  these  sparkling  keys,  were  homes  for  the 


314  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

poor  of  the  world,  food  for  the  hungry,  beauty  for  the 
abased,  work  for  the  stinted,  rest  for  the  exhausted. 
For  an  army  could  feed  from  them  in  the  morning,  and 
pass  on,  yet  in  the  evening  there  would  be  food  for 
another  army.  The  earth  brought  forth  in  bounty. 
All  the  fruits  of  the  world  grew  there.  The  trade  winds 
smelt  of  fruit.  The  bats  from  the  Isthmus  darkened 
the  stars  at  twilight  as  they  came  to  gorge  the  fruit; 
yet  in  the  morning,  when  they  flew  screaming  to  their 
caves,  it  was  as  though  they  had  scattered  but  a  husk 
or  two,  scattered  a  few  seeds,  a  few  sucked  skins.  The 
sea  gave  a  multitude  of  fish.  The  woods  were  full  of 
game.  It  was  an  earthly  paradise.  It  went  to  his 
heart  to  think  that  he  was  almost  a  king  here.  To  the 
Indians  he  was  more  than  a  king :  he  was  a  god. 

He  loved  the  Indians.  He  loved  their  dignity,  their 
pride  in  the  white  man's  friendship,  their  devoted  serv- 
ice. It  reminded  him  of  his  life  at  school  and  of  the 
devotion  of  small  boys  to  their  captain.  During  his 
convalescence  he  had  had  many  talks  with  an  Indian 
prince,  whom  the  seamen  called  Don  Toro.  He  had 
learned  from  this  man  to  speak  a  little  in  the  Indian 
tongue,  enough  to  draw  from  him  something  of  the 
Isthmus.  He  wished  to  clear  the  Isthmus  of  its  poison- 
ous tangle  of  forest,  so  that  the  shore  might  become 
savannah  land,  as  at  Panama.  He  longed  to  see  the 
jungle  go  up  in  a  blaze,  in  a  roaring,  marching  army  of 
fire,  that  would  cut  a  blackened  swath  to  the  hills, 
leaping  over  tree-tops,  charring  the  undergrowth,  mak- 
ing good  pasture  for  cattle,  for  the  great,  pale  Cam- 
peachy  cattle  which  his  ships  should  bring  there  from 
Sisal.  He  tried  to  make  Don  Toro  understand  his  wish, 
but  failed;  for  Don  Toro  was  a  woodland  Indian;  the 
forest  was  his  home.  That  stroke  of  policy,  the  bonfire, 
would  have  to  wait  till  he  could  bring  the  Indians  to 


THE  END  315 

help  him,  and  till  the  logwood  on  the  banks  of  the  rivers 
had  all  been  cut  and  shipped.  But  he  wished  that  all 
those  miles  of  wood  were  lying  in  blackened  ashes.  It 
was  now  the  bright,  dry  season,  when  the  woods  were 
pleasant,  musical  with  bell-birds,  sweet  with  blossoms. 
In  a  few  weeks  there  would  come  the  rains,  the  months 
of  rain,  the  streaming  months,  when  the  trees  would  rise 
up  from  a  marsh,  when  the  sound  of  dropping  would  be- 
come a  burden,  the  months  of  the  white-ribbed  mosquito 
and  the  yellow  fever. 

He  loved  Olivia  still.  His  passion  was  his  life,  his 
imagination.  While  that  fire  burned  in  him  the  world 
was  a  metal  from  which  he  could  beat  brave  sparks. 
He  was  not  sure  how  she  felt  towards  her  husband. 
He  had  done  his  best  for  her  husband.  He  could  not 
say  that  there  was  much  chance  of  a  happy  life  for  her. 
It  had  been  hard  to  counsel  her,  doubly  hard,  for  when 
she  spoke  gravely  her  voice  thrilled,  the  tone  burned 
through  him  like  a  flame.  A  little  more,  and  honour 
would  be  thrown  aside  like  a  rag;  the  words  would 
come  in  a  rush,  sweeping  him  away.  She  had  never 
seemed  more  beautiful  than  now.  She  was  pale,  still ; 
her  eyes  had  dark  rings ;  but  she  had  never  seemed  more 
beautiful.  She  was  still  mysterious  to  him,  though  he 
knew  her  better  than  he  had  ever  known  her.  She  was 
an  exquisite  mystery,  beautiful,  sacred,  unthinkable; 
but  not  for  him,  never  for  him.  She  would  only  be  a 
shy  friend  to  him,  giving  a  little,  hiding  much,  never 
truly  herself  before  him.  So  much  he  could  see,  hating 
himself  for  his  clumsy  walk,  for  his  gravity,  for  what- 
ever it  was,  in  him,  which  kept  her  away.  He  saw 
that  she  was  timid,  fearful  of  all  rough  and  rude  things, 
a  shy  soul,  refined,  delicate.  He  guessed  that  his  love 
for  her  made  her  timid  of  him.  Then  came  the  thought 
of  Stukeley,  the  torment  and  hate  of  the  thought  of 


316  CAPTAIN  MAEGAEET 

Stukeley.  He  was  to  restore  Stukeley  to  her,  after 
all  these  agonizing  weeks.  They  had  been  bad  weeks, 
weeks  of  doubt,  weeks  of  wicked  opportunity.  Had 
he  followed  his  own  heart,  during  those  weeks,  he  might 
have  wrought  upon  her,  till  the  thought  of  Stukeley 
was  loathsome  to  her.  He  could  see  no  possible  happi- 
ness for  her  in  a  life  with  Stukeley,  if  Stukeley  were 
restored.  She  might  find  peace  of  mind  in  having 
him  again  beside  her;  but  never  happiness.  He 
remembered  an  old  phrase  of  Perrin's,  that  women 
did  not  wish  to  be  made  happy,  but  to  have  the  men 
they  loved.  It  seemed  true ;  possibly  it  explained  many 
horrible  tales  of  faithfulness.  It  had  been  a  bitter 
task  to  plead  for  Stukeley.  It  would  be  bitter  to  bring 
him  back,  and  to  watch  the  new  peace  broken,  as  he  knew 
it  would  be,  himself  making  time  and  place.  Still,  it 
had  been  the  right  thing;  the  right  was  a  better  thing 
than  love.  He  bit  his  lips  for  loathing  when  he  thought 
how  very  far  from  the  right  his  love  for  this  woman 
had  led  him. 

Was  he  right,  he  wondered,  in  attacking  Tolu,  in  an 
attempt  to  win  back  Stukeley?  The  ambush  on  the 
beach  had  been  sufficient  declaration  of  war.  They 
had  shown  that  they  wished  for  war.  He  had  put  his 
hand  to  the  plough;  it  must  drive  on  to  the  furrow's 
end.  But  how  many  of  his  men  would  fight  for  a 
righteous  cause  when  the  issue  was  tried?  To  help 
the  Indians,  ancient  lords  of  America,  was  a  righteous 
cause,  though  the  ancient  lords  lay  in  bones  in  the 
caves,  dead  long  ago.  Only  their  grandsons,  servile 
degenerates,  or  men  not  yet  dispossessed,  now  lived. 
And  if  he  helped  the  Indians,  beating  the  Spaniards, 
was  his  colony  to  sail  away,  or  to  have  the  fruit  of 
their  toil  ?  If  they  were  to  stay,  how  soon  would  the 
clash  come?  How  soon  would  the  white  men  burn 


THE  END  317 

the  forest,  so  that  they  might  possess  the  land  ?  When 
he  asked  himself  this  question,  he  could  not  honestly 
say  that  he  was  fighting  for  the  Indians'  sake.  His 
men  were  fighting  for  loot,  like  a  gang  of  robbers  on  a 
road.  And  yet.  If  by  their  means  he  broke  a  corrupt 
power,  so  that  the  islands  might  become  the  world's 
garden  and  granary,  another  Venice,  a  home  of  glory 
and  honour,  as  he  prayed,  as  he  truly  believed,  it  was 
right,  the  end  justified  him.  Only  he  must  see  to  it 
that  the  Venice  rose  from  all  this  noisomeness.  That 
was  his  task.  That  alone  could  keep  his  sword  bright. 
This  must  be  no  colony,  no  refuse  heap,  where  younger 
sons  might  work  with  their  hands  unseen,  and  the 
detected  family  knave  escape  his  punishment.  It  must 
be  other  than  that.  When  they  sailed  home  from  Tolu 
he  would  proclaim  the  republic  of  the  keys;  they 
would  agree  upon  laws  together ;  they  would  send  their 
first-fruits  home.  He  used  to  lie  in  his  bunk  at  night 
in  a  trance  of  prayer  that  he  might  make  these  islands 
all  that  he  had  hoped.  It  might  be,  he  thought.  But 
there  was  much  to  do,  and  little  could  be  done  at  once. 
When  they  came  home  from  Tolu;  perhaps,  then,  he 
would  see  his  dream  made  real.  Now  and  then,  in  the 
night  watches,  he  asked  himself  whether  his  men  would 
stand  success.  He  remembered  how  Cammock  had 
said  that  they  would  not  stand  failure.  Thinking  of 
Olivia,  he  knew  which  was  the  real  test.  He  began  to 
tremble  for  the  moment  of  power.  St.  George  became 
John  Bull  directly  he  had  killed  the  dragon.  His  fine 
standard  in  the  arts  of  life  made  him  pray  that  he 
might  never  succeed  in  that  way.  Better  fail.  Failure 
is  spiritual  success.  What  is  heaven  to  those  who  have 
the  earth. 

They   sailed    from    Springer's    Key   three   hundred 
strong,  packed  in  the  two  ships  and  three  sloops.     Fifty 


318  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

men  remained  behind  to  garrison  the  key.  A  party  of 
Indians,  under  Don  Toro,  followed  the  fleet  in  a  large 
periagua.  Each  ship  in  the  fleet  towed  a  bunch  of 
canoas  in  which  the  attacking  force  would  go  ashore. 
They  were  very  gay  with  flags  when  they  left  the  an- 
chorage. They  fired  guns,  and  sang,  glad  of  the  battle. 
In  a  few  days  a  score  at  least  of  the  singers  would  be 
dead  in  the  sand,  others  would  be  stricken  down,  per- 
haps maimed.  Margaret  asked  Cammock  if  they  ever 
thought  of  this  before  a  fight ;  but  he  answered,  "  No." 

"  No  one  would  ever  fight  if  he  thought,"  he  said. 
"  I've  been,  now  (with  other  fellows),  in  three  big  fights. 
We'd  not  got  a  chance  in  any  one  of  'em,  if  you'd  asked 
before.  I  was  at  Panama,  where  we  were  all  starved 
and  worn,  while  they'd  a  fresh  army,  with  a  city  to 
fall  back  on.  I  was  at  Perico,  and  five  or  six  boats 
of  us  fought  three  big  ships  full  of  troops.  I  was  at 
Arica,  where  about  a  hundred  of  us  fought  what  was 
really  a  brigade  of  an  army.  I  don't  think  once  I 
heard  any  say,  or  even  think,  as  some  would  be  killed 
and  shot." 

"  I  was  in  the  Low  Countries,"  said  Margaret.  "  It 
was  the  same  there.  Each  man  thinks  and  hopes  that 
it  will  be  the  other  fellow.  Sometimes  I  feel  that  if  a 
man  thinks  with  sufficient  strength  he  really  makes  a 
sort  of  intellectual  guard  about  himself.  I  mean,  as 
faith  saved  the  men  in  the  furnace.  What  do  you 
think?" 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Cammock.  "  A  man  who  goes  in  think- 
ing about  himself  like  that  isn't  going  to  do  much  with 
his  gun.  Besides,  he  couldn't." 

"  You  see  them  sometimes." 

"  Ay,"  said  Cammock.  "  You  see  'em  swaying  from 
side  to  side  to  touch  their  next-hand  man.  For  com- 
pany. You  see  'em  all  swaying  in  a  row.  Like  this. 


THE  END  319 

Side  to  side.  But  the  first  shot  locks  the  ranks.  When 
they  begin  to  fire  they  forget  it  all.  They've  got  to 
manage  their  guns.  And  they  get  all  hid  in  smoke. 
That's  another  comfort.  And  they  can  shout,  '  Give 
'em  hell.  Give  'em  hell.  Give  it  the  hijos  del  horos.' 
But  afterwards.  What  about  afterwards  ?  " 

"  The  dead  and  wounded  ?  Yes,"  said  Margaret. 
"  Poor  wretches  lying  out  without  water.  Ammunition 
carts  going  over  them.  Camp  followers.  The  night 
after  a  battle.  I  remember  my  first.  It  was  all  still 
after  the  firing.  Then  one  heard  cries  in  the  stillness, 
from  all  round  one.  Awful  cries.  Like  wild  beasts." 

"  I  never  heard  that,  sir.  But  I've  seen  blood  really 
running  out  of  a  ship's  scuppers.  That  gives  you  a 
turn.  That  was  at  Perico.  She  was  coming  past  us 
full  tilt,  under  all  sail.  Her  decks  were  full  of  men ; 
full.  We  were  only  eighteen  of  us  in  the  long-boat. 
So  we  gave  her  one  volley.  It  was  like  a  deer  dropping 
dead,  sir.  The  ship  broached  to.  There  was  scarcely 
a  man  left  standing  in  her.  Their  matches  set  her  on 
fire.  I  was  aboard  her  afterwards.  I  never  see  such  a 
sight." 

"  And  how  many  are  over  there,  now,  going  about  the 
town,  to  be  killed  in  a  few  days,  not  seeing  their  slayer  ? 
Have  you  ever  thought  of  the  soul,  captain?  It  must 
be  startled  to  be  driven  from  the  body  like  that." 

"  The  faces  are  peaceful,  sir." 

"  Yes.  Many  are.  But  the  faces  one  sees  in  a  fight. 
I  never  saw  a  noble  expression  on  a  man's  face  in  a 
battle.  I've  seen  fear,  and  sickness,  and  madness.  I 
always  feel  a  compound  of  all  three.  What  do  you 
feel?  I  don't  believe  you  do  feel.  You  are  always 
so  wonderful.  I  wish  I  had  your  self-control." 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  feel,  sir.  Fear  of  having  my 
retreat  cut  off.  That's  the  thing  I  worry  over.  I  tell 


320  CAPTAIN  MAKGAKET 

you,  sir,  frankly.  I  don't  want  that  ever  to  happen 
to  me.  I  don't  care  who  knows  it." 

"  About  our  battle,  captain.  We  shall  land  in  force 
to  south  of  the  town,  while  Tucket's  party  makes  a 
strong  feint  on  the  north  wall.  We  shall  creep  up 
along  the  beach,  and  attack  the  south  wall  as  soon  as 
Tucket's  party  draws  their  fire.  We  ought  to  be  in 
the  town  by  the  time  the  sun's  at  all  strong.  The 
canoas  will  follow  us  up,  and  lie  below  the  sea-wall, 
ready  for  us.  The  ships  will  anchor  within  gunshot 
of  the  town  as  soon  as  we  hoist  English  colours." 

"  It'd  be  well  to  get  all  hands  off  soon,  sir.  They'll 
get  straggled,  looking  for  loot,  and  there's  three  garrisons 
—  Lobos,  Covenas,  and  Cispata  —  within  an  hour  or 
two's  ride  of  the  place.  Another  thing,  they'll  likely 
take  to  drinking." 

"  We're  not  in  the  town  yet,  captain." 

"  That'll  come,  sir." 

"  You  know,  captain,  we  may  be  taking  our  friend 
back." 

"  Yes,  sir.  The  lady,  poor  thing.  She  must  be  suf- 
fering now,  sir.  We're  anxious.  But  nothing  to  her, 
poor  thing,  wondering  if  that  man's  alive." 

"  I'm  wondering  if  we  are  making  more  trouble  for 
her  by  bringing  him  back  to  her." 

"  He's  not  been  brought  yet,  sir." 

"  In  three  days,  captain." 

"  Maybe  so,  sir.  If  you  ask  me,  I  say  no.  She'll 
never  see  him  again.  I  ask  Mr.  Perrin  that.  One 
always  comes  back  to  Mr.  Perrin.  They  call  him  a  fool, 
forward  there ;  but  he  sees  things  shrewder  than  some  of 
these  wise  ones  that  tried  to  drown  the  duck.  He  said, 
1  No.  You'll  never  see  him  again.  He's  married  to  a 
Spanish  girl,  and  changed  his  religion,  by  this  time.' 


THE  END  321 

One  never  believes  Mr.  Perrin  till  one  finds  he  was  right 
after  all.  Then  it's  too  late." 

"  Perhaps,"  Margaret  said.  "  He  may  be  right. 
That  may  be  it.  He  may  be  killed  in  the  assault.  He 
may  have  left  the  town.  We  may  never  see  him  again. 
It  may  be  the  end.  I  wonder  what  sort  of  life  it  is 
going  to  be  for  her  if  it  is  the  end." 

"  Life  goes  on  much  the  same  way,  sir.  Women  feel 
it  more  than  men ;  they  live  so  cramped.  But  I  always 
say  a  man's  a  bigger  thing  than  anything  he  makes. 
If  he  makes  trouble  he'd  ought  to  be  big  enough  to 
bear  it." 

"  And  if  the  trouble's  made  for  him  ?  " 

"  There's  always  more  than  yourself  in  the  world. 
Come,  sir." 

"  I  think,  captain,"  said  Margaret,  "  you're  the  only 
one  of  us  all  who  conies  up  prepared  and  calm,  ready 
for  everything.  I  ought  to  have  been  on  the  Main  with 
you  and  Morgan,  instead  of  learning  Latin  at  a  uni- 
versity. If  I  ever  have  a  son,  I  shall  send  him  abroad 
with  you  to  be  a  buccaneer." 

They  entered  the  gulf  in  the  darkness  of  the  new 
moon.  They  sailed  in  a  clump  together,  Tucket  lead- 
ing. They  sailed  without  lights,  but  for  the  night- 
lights  in  the  binnacles.  They  moved  in  blackness  on 
the  sea,  great  fish  making  fire-streaks,  lumbering  whales 
with  their  brood.  The  men  aboard  them,  waiting  in 
the  darkness  for  the  word,  struck  their  shins  on  guns 
and  longed  to  be  off.  Few  of  them  took  their  ham- 
mocks from  the  nettings  that  night.  They  passed  the 
hours  talking  and  smoking,  in  slow  sea-walks  to  and 
fro,  humming  old  tunes  over  their  pipestems.  They 
had  made  themselves  ready  many  hours  before.  Their 
guns  had  been  oiled  and  loaded,  and  their  belts  filled 


322  CAPTAIN  MARGAKET 

with  cartridges,  during  the  afternoon.  All  that  they 
had  to  do  now  was  to  buckle  on  their  water-bottles 
and  snapsacks,  and  get  into  their  boats.  They  heard 
the  surf  tumbling  on  the  Mestizos.  Setting  stars,  like 
ships'  lights,  burned  out  into  the  sea.  The  seamen 
watched  them  as  they  shifted  their  tides,  talking  of  the 
past,  with  its  memories,  of  ships  and  women,  its  mem- 
ories of  life  and  the  sun. 

The  word  was  given  some  four  miles  from  the  city, 
lest  the  Indian  sentinels  should  sight  the  ships  from  the 
walls.  The  land  was  like  a  cloud  at  that  distance,  like 
a  sharply  denned  blackness  on  the  sky,  shutting  off 
the  rising  stars.  It  was  a  dark  morning;  but  to  the 
seamen's  eyes  it  was  light  enough.  They  had  been  on 
deck  since  the  setting  of  the  watch.  They  had  grown 
accustomed  to  the  darkness.  It  was  now  an  hour  before 
the  dawn.  It  was  to  be  a  red  dawn  above  Tolu. 

Captain  Margaret  stood  with  Cammock  at  the  gang- 
way watching  his  men  go  over  the  side  to  the  canoas. 
All  the  men  of  war,  twenty  of  his  crew,  and  a  few  In- 
dians, fifty  men  in  all,  were  coming  with  him  from  the 
ship.  They  loitered  about  the  gangway  like  sheep  at  a 
gap,  they  seemed  a  great  company.  They  did  not  talk 
much  among  themselves.  One  or  two,  the  wags  of  the 
fo'c's'le,  made  jests  about  "  Tolu  soup  "  ;  and  the  laugh- 
ter spread  in  the  canoas,  where  the  men  were  packed 
tightly,  like  lovers  on  a  bench.  One  or  two  of  the  men, 
the  most  intelligent  among  them,  asked  to  shake  hands 
with  Captain  Margaret  as  they  passed  him  at  the  gang- 
way side.  Perrin  touched  him  on  the  shoulder  when 
about  half  of  them  had  gone. 

"  Charles,"  he  said,  "  Olivia  wants  to  see  you.  She's 
in  the  alleyway." 

"  In  a  minute,"  he  answered.     "  Good-bye,  West." 

"  Good-bye,  sir." 


THE  END  323 

"  Look  after  them,  captain.  Don't  let  them  shove 
off  without  me." 

In  the  darkness  of  the  alleyway  he  found  Olivia. 
He  could  see  her  great  eyes  in  the  oval  of  her  face.  She 
was  trembling. 

"  Well,  Olivia,"  he  said  gravely.  He  took  her  hands 
in  his,  wondering,  dully,  if  he  would  ever  see  her  again. 
"  I'm  just  off,  Olivia." 

"  I  wanted  to  see  you,"  she  said,  in  a  shaking  little 
voice.  "  I  know  I've  only  a  minute.  I  tried  last  night. 
I  want  to  thank  you,  Charles.  You've  been  good. 
You've  been  very  good  to  me.  Whether  you  succeed. 
Or  don't  succeed.  I  mean  now.  On  shore.  I.  I 
thank  you.  Thank  you.  God  keep  you." 

"  You,  too,  Olivia." 

He  felt  that  this  was  the  supreme  moment  of  his 
life,  this  moment  in  the  dark,  with  the  forms  of  seamen 
passing  across  the  door,  and  the  white,  beloved  face 
half  seen,  strained  up  towards  him.  He  knew  that 
he  might  kiss  her  face.  Their  souls  were  very  near 
together,  nearer,  he  knew,  than  they  would  ever  again 
be.  There  was  the  beloved  face  near  his;  there  was 
his  reward,  after  all  these  days,  after  all  this  wandering 
the  world. 

"  Good-bye,  Olivia." 

She  did  not  answer,  but  her  hands  pressed  his  hands 
to  her  side  for  a  moment. 

"  We  shall  be  back  in  a  few  hours,  Olivia." 

"  Ah,  not  that.  Not  that,"  she  said,  shuddering. 
"  Never  that  again." 

"  Perhaps,  Olivia,  he  may  be  with  us." 

"  No,"  she  said  faintly. 

"  I  must  go  now,  Olivia.     Good-bye." 

"  Good-bye,"  she  murmured.  "  God  keep  you, 
Charles." 


324  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

He  knew  that  he  might  kiss  her  face;  but  would 
not.  He  knew  that  it  was  the  mood  and  the  moment 
which  brought  them  thus  together.  She  should  never 
reproach  herself.  He  did  not  love  for  pay.  He  pressed 
her  hands  for  an  instant.  "  Good-bye  then,"  he  said 
lightly. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  so  lowly  that  he  could  hardly 
hear  her. 

He  knew  that  she  stood  there,  leaning  against  the 
bulkhead  in  the  dark,  long  after  he  had  reached  the 
deck.  It  was  like  waking  from  a  dream  to  come  on 
deck  again. 

"  Good-bye,  Cammock,"  he  said,  putting  his  emotion 
from  him.  "  We've  got  our  bearings.  Don't  stand 
further  in  for  half  an  hour.  If  anything  happens. 
Well.  We've  talked  that  out.  Haven't  we?  Good- 
bye, Edward." 

"  Good-bye.  Look  here,  Charles.  Here  are  my  pis- 
tols. I  should  like  you  to  have  them." 

"  Very  well,"  he  said.  "  Thanks.  How  do  you  put 
them  on  ?  "  He  slung  the  pistol-belt  over  his  shoulder, 
in  the  sea-style.  "  Good-bye,"  he  said  again.  "  Look 
after  her." 

He  passed  quickly  down  the  ladder  to  the  waiting 
canoas,  which  still  dragged  at  the  gangway  with  their 
freights  of  armed  men.  A  canoa  was  pulling  towards 
them  out  of  the  night;  her  oars  stroked  the  sea  into 
flame.  Gleams  of  flame  broadened  at  her  bows.  Little 
bright  sparks  scattered  from  the  oar-blades  as  the  rowers 
feathered. 

"  Is  that  you,  Captain  Margaret  ?  "  said  Pain's  voice. 
"  I've  sent  Tucket's  party  on  ahead.  They've  got  a 
mile  further  to  pull  than  we  got.  We're  all  ready  ahead 
there.  You're  all  ready  and  loaded,  and  your  guns 
flinted?" 


THE  END  325 

"  Yes.     All  ready  here,  Captain  Pain." 

"  Your  oars  are  in  grummets,  ain't  they  ?  " 

«  Yes,  all  of  them." 

"  And  you've  all  got  white  scarves  on  your  arms  ? 
Eight.  The  word  is  *  Up  with  her.'  " 

"  '  Up  with  her.'  You  hear  that,  all  of  you  ?  The 
word  is  *  Up  with  her.' ' 

"  Up  with  her,"  the  men  repeated.  "  We'll  rally  her 
up  for  a  full  due." 

"  We'll  shove  ahead,  then,  cap,"  said  Captain  Pain. 
"  If  any  man  speaks  above  a  whisper,  mind,  we'll  deal 
with  him  after." 

"  Silence  in  the  boats,"  said  Margaret.  "  On  a  morn- 
ing so  still  as  this  we  may  be  heard  a  couple  of  miles  off. 
Sound  goes  a  long  way  over  water.  Eemember,  all 
hands.  No  looting.  There's  to  be  no  looting.  After 
the  city's  taken,  we  shall  hold  it  to  ransom.  After  the 
fight,  the  trumpeter  here  will  sound  the  assembly  in  the 
Plaza.  You  will  all  fall  in  there.  Understand  ?  " 

"  Are  you  ready  in  the  bows  there  ?  " 

"  All  ready,  sir." 

"  Shove  off.  Give  way  together.  Make  it  long, 
stroke  oars." 

"  Long  and  lairy,  sir." 

"  We'll  follow  you,  Captain  Pain." 

"  Eight,"  came  the  voice  out  of  the  darkness.  The 
hulk  of  the  Broken  Heart  fell  away  into  the  night.  The 
ripple  of  flame  at  her  bows  died  astern.  The  boats 
drew  up  into  order,  Pain's  canoa  leading,  the  other 
fourteen  following  close  behind,  two  and  two  together. 
There  was  silence  in  all  the  boats,  a  silence  like  the 
hush  in  a  theatre.  The  wash  of  the  hundred  oars,  and 
the  slow  breathing  of  the  rowers,  was  all  that  could  be 
heard.  All  that  could  be  seen  was  the  advancing  oily 
swell  of  the  water,  the  gleam  where  the  oars  dipped, 


326  CAPTAIN  MAKGAEET 

the  track  of  the  great  stars  dancing  on  the  swell.  Dimly 
one  could  see  the  other  boats.  One  could  see  the  tran- 
som of  Pain's  boat,  a  ghostly  oval,  dying  away  ahead, 
but  never  quite  gone.  Far  in  front,  seeming  slowly  to 
climb  higher,  was  the  blackness  of  the  shore,  from  which, 
very  faintly,  came  the  roll  of  the  surf.  So  they  rowed 
on,  in  the  darkness,  pausing  sometimes  to  change  their 
rowers,  two  hundred  men,  going  to  the  presence  of  death. 

Their  first  real  sight  of  the  shore  was  a  twinkle  of  fire 
upon  the  beach,  below  the  city.  Some  infected  clothes 
had  been  set  on  fire  there  the  night  before.  The  fire 
had  smouldered  all  night,  and  had  then  broken  out, 
in  little  leaping  tongues,  lighting  the  town's  south  gate. 
Those  in  the  boat  wondered  when  they  saw  it,  thinking 
that  Indians  must  be  camped  there,  or  travellers  from 
Covenas,  perhaps,  arrived  after  the  shutting  of  the  gates. 
There  was  some  anxiety  lest  it  should  be  a  signal ;  but 
the  flames,  lighting  up  the  beach,  showed  them  no 
watchers,  and  no  answering  signal  shone  in  the  south- 
west, either  from  shore  or  sea.  They  learned  from  the 
fire  that  they  were  pointing  too  near  to  the  city.  They 
swung  off  four  points,  and  rowed  to  the  south-east,  into 
the  shallow  water  off  the  mouth  of  the  Pesquero. 

They  landed  about  three  miles  from  the  town,  and  at 
once  formed  for  action.  Some  Indian  scouts  led  the 
party,  then  came  Margaret  with  a  dozen  axemen,  all 
carrying  powder-kegs,  for  the  destruction  of  the  gate. 
The  Broken  Heart  men  formed  the  vanguard.  Pain's 
men  followed,  in  rough  order.  The  boats,  with  a  boat- 
guard  of  thirty  or  forty  men,  some  of  whom  were  leeches, 
pulled  out  into  the  gulf,  to  prepare  lint  and  salves  for 
the  hurt.  The  landing  party  looked  to  their  firearms. 
There  was  a  little  confusion  and  splashing,  owing  to 
the  narrowness  of  the  beach,  which  forced  some  of  them 
to  stand  in  the  sea.  In  a  few  minutes  they  were  all 


THE  END  327 

ready.  They  set  forward,  as  silently  as  they  could, 
keeping  a  fast  walk,  lest  Tucket's  men,  now  hidden 
among  rocks  a  mile  to  the  north  of  the  town,  should 
grow  weary  of  waiting.  It  was  still  dark  night  about 
them;  but  they  knew  from  the  faintness  of  the  wind 
that  it  was  near  dawn.  The  macaws  were  waking  in  the 
forest.  Strange  cries,  strange  primeval  noises,  sounded 
in  the  forest.  There  were  stealthy  patterings,  quick 
scuttering  droppings,  as  some  animal  brushed  among 
the  scrub,  knocking  off  the  dew.  The  Indian  who 
walked  by  Margaret  knew  what  these  noises  meant.  He 
paused  at  each  sound,  as  though  to  make  sure  that  they 
were  really  what  they  seemed.  A  chicaly-chicaly  made 
her  sweet,  sharp  cry,  from  somewhere  ahead.  It 
touched  Margaret  to  the  heart ;  it  was  so  like  the  tolling 
of  a  cuckoo.  The  Indian  bent  his  head  back  and  replied, 
so  exactly  that  the  bird  answered.  Margaret  had  never 
before  heard  this  done;  though  he  had  read  of  it.  He 
wondered,  as  he  marched,  if  all  knowledge  ranked  alike, 
if  all  power,  all  imagination,  ranked  alike,  and  whether 
this  Indian,  who  could  apprehend  the  natures  of  all 
these  creatures  in  the  wood,  were  not  really  a  finer 
product  than  himself.  He  could  not  imitate  a  chicaly- 
chicaly,  he  could  not  raise  the  devil,  he  could  not  see 
a  three-days'-old  track  on  stones.  He  wished  that  in 
the  march  to  a  full  life  one  had  not  to  forget  so  much. 
One  should  have  all  the  powers,  all  the  savage  powers 
even,  one  should  be  a  divine  spirit  of  apprehension,  one 
should  inform  the  whole  world,  feeling  the  pismire's 
want  as  keenly  as  the  saint's  ecstasy.  One  should  be 
able  to  apprehend  the  wild  things,  the  things  of  the 
wood,  as  well  as  the  spirit  of  a  poet  in  his  divine  mo- 
ment. True  life  is  to  be  alive  in  every  fibre  to  the 
divine  in  all  things.  He  wondered  whether  the  Indians 
communed  with  the  beasts,  getting  from  them  some- 


328  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

thing  which  the  white  men  ignored;  coming,  through 
them,  to  secrets  unknown  to  white  men,  secrets  of 
nature,  of  the  universal  spirit,  of  the  spirit  which  binds 
the  herds  of  peccary,  and  slinks  in  the  wild  cat,  and 
sings  in  the  bell-voiced  golden-comb.  He  thought  little 
of  the  business  in  hand.  His  mind  was  blank  about  it. 
All  that  he  could  think  of  the  coming  struggle  was  that 
he  must  bring  back  Stukeley,  find  him  and  bring  him 
back,  or  never  go  back  himself.  The  men  were  all 
round  him,  some  of  them  even  ahead  of  him  by  this 
time,  for,  going  fast  as  they  were,  often  up  to  their 
knees  in  the  sea,  it  was  impossible  to  keep  good  order. 
After  half  an  hour's  march  they  forded  the  Arroyo 
Francesco  and  came  to  the  broader  sands.  Here  they 
all  marched  in  the  wash;  for  now  they  were  within 
twelve  minutes  of  the  town.  They  could  see  the  dark 
mass  of  the  town  ahead  of  them,  a  city  of  sleepers,  no 
light  burning,  no  one  stirring,  only  a  little  fire  near  the 
gate,  and  a  dog  baying  in  the  Plaza.  The  dawn  was 
beginning  to  change  the  darkness;  it  was  growing 
lighter.  The  screams  of  the  macaws  set  the  monkeys 
swearing.  The  men  halted,  formed  into  order,  and 
hurried  on  for  another  half-mile.  They  paused  again, 
only  four  hundred  yards  from  the  walls.  The  pioneers 
with  the  powder-kegs  made  ready  for  their  dash  to  the 
gate.  The  fusemen,  carrying  many  yards  of  match, 
now  lit  their  fuses  in  the  scrub.  The  army  marked 
time,  feeling  the  chill  of  the  dawn,  waiting  for  Tucket 
to  begin.  Margaret  could  feel  that  many  of  his  men 
were  nervous,  waiting  like  that,  with  the  light  growing 
above  them.  They  had  timed  the  attack  well;  but  to 
stand,  waiting,  while  the  precious  moments  passed,  was 
hard.  Very  soon  the  sentinels  would  see  them.  A  low 
growl  of  discontent  muttered  up  and  down  the  ranks. 
Voices  urged  Margaret  to  attack  at  once,  without  wait- 


THE  END  329 

ing  for  Tucket.  "We  shall  be  seen."  "What's  the 
good  of  waiting  here  ?  "  "  Why,  Lord  love  us,  we  could 
have  took  the  town  by  this  time."  "  Shove  ahead." 
"  This  is  a  bit  of  '  up  with  her/  I  don't  think,  waiting 
'ere."  There  was  a  tendency  to  edge  forward,  to  press 
towards  the  front,  to  see  what  was  going  on.  Margaret 
urged  them  back,  and  passed  word  to  Pain  to  keep  his 
rear  ranks  from  firing  into  the  backs  of  the  storming 
party.  The  rear  ranks  were  the  eager  ranks,  as  they 
always  are.  The  front  ranks  are  nearest  to  the  bullets ; 
they  have  their  minds  engaged. 

Lighter  it  grew.  There  was  colour  in  the  sky  now ; 
the  men  were  surging  forward,  swearing  that  they  would 
wait  no  more.  Then  from  far  away,  on  the  farther  wall 
of  the  town,  a  cry  arose,  a  cry  like  a  death  cry,  a  cry 
of  alarm.  Two  shots  followed ;  then  yells,  shrieks,  oaths, 
the  roar  of  many  guns.  "  Up  with  her,  Tucket,"  said 
the  waiting  men.  Cries  sounded  within  the  town,  dogs 
yelped,  one  or  two  women  screamed,  as  the  firing  in- 
creased. "  Come  on,"  Margaret  called  to  the  pioneers. 
They  splashed  out  of  the  water  on  to  the  sands,  and 
started  towards  the  city  at  a  run.  As  they  ran,  they 
heard  Pain  keeping  back  the  ranks  till  the  charge  should 
have  been  fired.  The  feet  splashed  behind  them  slowly, 
growing  fainter.  The  fire  on  the  beach  grew  brighter, 
they  were  passing  it ;  the  walls  were  before  them,  only 
a  hundred  yards  away.  "  Against  the  door,"  he  said, 
panting.  "  Against  the  hinges.  One  keg  spilled  be- 
low." The  town  was  aroused  now.  They  could  hear 
the  cries  and  hurry.  Still  no  sign  came  from  the  walls. 
"  Sentinel's  asleep,"  said  one  of  the  men.  "  There," 
said  another.  "  Up  with  her.  Up  with  her.  We're 
seen."  A  man  showed  upon  the  wall  by  the  gate. 
"  Ahi,"  he  screamed.  "  Piratas.  Piratas.  Piratas. 
Cuidado.  Cuidado."  He  fired  his  gun  into  the  air; 


330  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

the  flash  shot  up  like  the  flash  of  a  blast-charge.  There 
came  cries  and  a  noise  of  running.  A  few  heads  showed. 
The  wall  spouted  fire  in  a  volley.  They  were  up  against 
the  wall,  against  the  iron-plated  door,  piling  the  kegs 
against  the  hinges,  tamping  them  down  with  sods  and 
stones.  Margaret  snatched  one  keg  and  spilled  it  along 
the  door-sill.  "  There,"  he  said.  "  There.  Now  your 
fuse,  fuseman."  The  quick-match  was  thrust  into  a 
keg.  "  Up  along  the  walls,  boys.  Quick.  Scatter. 
Pronto."  He  thrust  them  sideways.  They  saw  what 
he  wanted.  When  the  imaginations  are  alert  there  is 
little  need  for  speech.  No  man  could  have  heard  him. 
The  racket  in  the  town  was  uproar  like  earthquake. 
The  whole  wall  above  them  was  lit  with  fire  spurts. 
Mud  and  plaster  were  tinkling  in  a  rain  upon  them. 
They  ran  fifty  yards  like  hares,  paying  out  the  quick- 
match.  "  Now,"  said  Margaret.  The  match  flashed. 
A  snake  of  fire  rippled  from  them.  They  saw  the  shards 
of  pots  gleam,  then  vanish.  They  saw  old  bones,  old 
kettles,  all  the  refuse  below  the  walls.  "  Down,"  he 
shouted.  "  Down."  They  flung  themselves  down. 
The  beach  to  their  left  flashed,  as  the  pirates  fired  at  the 
wall. 

There  came  a  roar,  a  rush  of  fire,  a  shaking  of  the 
land.  Mud,  brick,  stone,  shards  of  iron  and  wood,  all 
the  ruin  of  the  gate,  crashed  among  them,  flying  far 
among  the  trees,  thumping  them  on  their  backs  as  they 
lay.  After  the  roar  there  was  a  dismayed  silence.  A 
wail  of  a  hurt  man  sounded,  as  though  the  wrecked  gate 
cried.  Then  with  a  volley  the  privateers  stormed  in. 
From  where  he  lay,  Margaret  could  watch  them  plainly ; 
the  dawn  had  broken.  He  saw  them  charging,  tripping 
in  the  sand,  their  gun-barrels  glinting.  An  Indian  led 
them,  a  screaming  Indian,  who  danced  and  spun  round, 
waving  his  machete.  "  Lie  still,"  he  shouted  to  his  pio- 


THE  END  331 

neers.  "  Let  them  pass.  They'll  shoot  you  down.  Lie 
still."  With  yells  and  shots  the  storming  party  swept 
up  the  ruin.  "  Up  with  her,"  they  shouted.  "  Up  with 
her."  They  were  clambering  over  the  wreck,  tripping, 
stumbling,  kneeling,  to  fire,  clubbing  at  the  guard. 
"  Now,"  said  Margaret,  drawing  his  sword.  They  rose 
up  from  their  nest  among  the  tip.  They  were  with  their 
fellows,  they  were  climbing  the  heaped  stone,  amid 
smoke  and  oaths  and  fire-lit  faces.  Margaret  was  in- 
side Tolu.  The  south  wall  was  won. 

The  land-breeze,  very  faint  now,  drifted  the  smoke 
slowly.  He  could  see  little.  He  could  see  in  glimpses 
the  whitewashed  houses,  the  line  of  the  south  road,  a 
man  with  his  back  to  a  wall,  a  woman  fallen,  figures 
rushing.  He  could  see  enough  to  know  that  the  enemy 
were  making  no  stand.  He  ran  on  up  the  road  to 
the  Plaza,  one  of  a  mob.  Windows  opened  above 
him.  People  fired  from  the  windows.  Women  were 
flinging  pots,  tiles,  braziers.  Some  one  had  begun  to 
ring  the  alarm  bell  in  the  church.  The  broken  clang 
sounded  out  above  the  screams  and  the  firing.  Now  it 
was  all  clear  before  him.  He  was  in  the  Plaza,  shout- 
ing to  his  mob  to  form.  There  in  front  of  him  the 
troops  were  mustering.  They  were  running  from  their 
quarters,  half  clad,  in  rags,  just  as  they  had  started 
from  sleep.  Heavy  fire  was  rolling  at  the  north  wall. 
Troops  were  running  thither.  In  the  centre  of  the 
Plaza,  about  a  cotton  tree,  a  score  of  Spaniards  were 
forming  in  line.  A  halberdier  was  dressing  them. 
They  stood  firm,  handling  their  guns,  hearkening  to 
their  capitan.  Margaret  saw  them  clearly,  and  praised 
them  in  his  heart  for  the  flower  of  soldiery.  They  were 
of  the  old  Spanish  foot,  the  finest  troops  in  the  world. 
Even  as  he  looked  he  saw  them  falling  forward.  He 
was  among  them.  His  sword  jarred  him  to  the  shoulder 


332  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

as  it  struck  on  a  gun-barrel.  He  saw  them  about  him. 
They  were  breaking.  They  were  gathering  into  clumps. 
They  were  being  swept  into  the  mob  of  citizens  flying 
to  the  east  gate. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  newly  risen  sun  showed  him 
a  captured  town.  In  the  streets,  in  the  Plaza,  every- 
where, lay  the  dead  and  dying.  They  lay  in  heaps  in 
some  parts.  All  the  clutter  and  wreck  of  war,  the 
clouts,  the  cast  arms,  the  gear  flung  away  by  the  fleeing, 
lay  littered  in  the  sands.  The  walls  were  chipped  and 
starred  with  bullet  marks.  The  stink  of  powder  was 
everywhere.  Women  still  screamed.  Wounded  men 
wailed  where  they  lay,  with  the  pitiful  whimpering  cry, 
like  that  of  a  beaten  hound,  which  sickens  all  who  hear 
it  of  the  glory  of  war.  Firing  was  still  going  on ;  but 
the  fight  was  over;  the  town  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
privateers. 

Margaret  found  himself  at  the  east  gate  with  Pain. 
About  a  dozen  of  the  crew  of  the  Broken  Heart  stood 
by  him,  waiting  for  orders.  He  took  their  names,  and 
told  them  off  to  look  out  at  the  city  gates,  and  to  spike 
the  guns  on  the  sea-wall. 

"  I'm  going  to  the  Governor's  house  there,  to  look 
for  my  friend,"  he  said.  "  Where's  my  trumpeter  ? 
Sound  the  assembly,  trumpet.  Muster  your  men,  will 
you,  Captain  Pain  ?  " 

The  assembly  sounded.  The  men  fell  in,  answering 
to  their  names.  The  boat-guard  with  the  doctors 
landed.  The  captains  checked  off  their  lists,  scanning 
the  ranks  closely  whenever  a  man  failed  to  answer. 
The  men  were  powder-blackened;  some  of  them  were 
wounded,  many  were  cut  about  the  head.  They  sent 
the  boat-guard  with  the  doctors  to  search  the  streets 
for  the  dead  and  hurt.  Thirty-three  men  were  missing, 


THE  END  333 

all  of  them,  save  one,  from  the  party  which  had  stormed 
the  south  wall. 

"  Strengthen  the  guards  at  the  gates,"  Margaret  said. 
"  Captain  Tucket,  you  take  the  north  gate.  I'll  see  to 
the  east.  Captain  Pain,  will  you  send  a  dozen  to  the 
south  ?  Keep  a  sharp  look  out." 

He  picked  his  own  guard  and  sent  them  off  to  their 
duty.  The  other  gate-guards  fell  out  unwillingly. 
Some  of  the  privateers  were  eating  their  breakfasts  in 
the  ranks. 

"  I'm  going  to  the  Governor's  house  now,"  he  said  to 
Pain.  "  Call  me  at  once  if  the  Spaniards  send  a  trum- 
pet. No  straggling.  No  looting,  mind."  As  he 
turned  towards  the  Governor's  house  he  heard  the  men 
behind  him  snigger.  He  heard  a  voice  ask  Pain  if  this 
was  to  be  the  new  rule,  now  that  Springer's  Key  was 
full  of  college  gents.  Pain  told  the  man  to  take  a  severe 
turn. 

Margaret  drew  his  pistols  as  he  came  near  the  house ; 
for  though  most  of  the  inhabitants  had  fled,  a  few  poor 
men  and  slaves  still  lounged  in  the  streets,  having  noth- 
ing to  lose.  A  single  man,  richly  dressed,  might  tempt 
these  gangrels.  He  hailed  a  negro,  who  sat  in  the  sun 
in  the  Plaza,  sucking  a  wound  in  his  wrist. 

"  Ho  muchacho,"  he  said  in  his  schoolboy  Spanish. 
"  Donde  esta  la  casa  del  Gobernador  ?  " 

The  negro  waved  his  unhurt  hand  towards  the  house 
with  a  gesture  full  of  dignity.  Then  he  continued  to 
suck  his  wound,  like  a  dog  licking  a  hurt  paw. 

"  Gracias,"  Margaret  answered.  "  Pero  el  hombre 
Ingles.  Donde  esta  ?  " 

Again  the  negro  waved  his  hand  towards  the  house, 
pausing  in  his  suction  exactly  like  a  dog.  "  He,"  he 
said ;  then  bent  to  suck  again. 


334:  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

The  house  of  the  Governor  fronted  the  Plaza.  It  was 
a  big  house,  with  a  patio.  The  lower  story  had  no  outer 
windows,  no  door.  Margaret  had  to  climb  the  stone 
steps  to  the  balcony,  where  a  chained  monkey  leaped 
up  and  down  in  the  sun,  between  bites  at  a  plantain. 
The  door  leading  to  the  inner  part  of  the  house  lay  open, 
just  as  the  fugitives  had  left  it.  A  woman's  shawl  was 
on  the  floor.  One  runner  had  upset  the  monkey's  saucer 
of  water.  A  chair  had  been  upset.  As  Margaret  en- 
tered the  house,  with  his  pistols  cocked,  he  saw  some- 
thing beneath  the  chair,  something  bright,  which  he  took 
to  be  a  snake.  It  was  the  scabbard  of  a  sword,  flung 
aside  in  a  soldier's  hurry.  Margaret,  pausing  on  the 
threshold  to  listen,  wondered  if  Stukeley  had  flung  it 
there.  He  listened  intently,  expecting  to  see  Stukeley 
coming  from  the  darkness  of  the  corridor.  His  mind 
was  busy  with  the  thought  of  Stukeley.  What  was  he 
to  say  to  him  ?  What  was  he  to  do  to  him  ?  Suppose 
Stukeley  came  out  fighting  ?  "I  must  bring  him  back," 
he  repeated.  "  I  must  bring  him  back.  He  must  be 
brought  back."  A  step  sounded  on  the  stairs  behind 
him.  It  was  West,  one  of  the  Broken  Heart's  sea- 
men. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  the  man  said,  "  may  I  come  with 
you  ?  There's  maybe  some  of  these  Dons  in  the  house." 

"  Yes,"  Margaret  answered.     "  Listen." 

They  listened  in  the  doorway  for  a  moment;  but 
the  house  was  still,  save  for  the  chinking  of  the  monkey's 
chain. 

"  Gone,  sir,  I  guess,"  said  West. 

"  Come  on,  then,"  Margaret  said.  "  Cock  your  pis- 
tols and  come  on." 

They  passed  through  the  littered  hall  into  the  left- 
hand  corridor.  The  jalousied  shutters  were  shut  on 
the  patio  side ;  but  the  doors  of  some  of  the  rooms  were 


THE  END  335 

open,  giving  light  to  the  passage.  It  was  a  barely 
furnished  house,  hung  with  very  old  Spanish  leather, 
ant-eaten  and  mothed  and  mouldy,  falling  to  pieces. 
In  the  first  room,  a  sleeping-room,  the  mosquito-nets 
had  been  torn  from  the  cots,  and  lay  wrecked  on  the 
floor  with  a  silver  chocolate  service.  In  another,  a  chair 
stood  against  the  wall,  where  a  man  had  stood  to  snatch 
arms  from  a  trophy.  In  another  sleeping-room  they 
found  the  clothes  of  a  man  and  woman  by  the  cot-sides 
just  as  they  had  been  laid  the  night  before,  when  the 
couple  retired.  It  was  like  being  in  the  presence  of 
death  to  walk  that  house.  It  was  as  though  they  were 
looking  on  the  corpse  of  a  house,  on  a  house  dug  up  from 
the  sands,  the  life  of  it  gone  and  forgotten,  only  the 
pathetic  husks  left,  that  had  once  been  helps  to  men. 
They  opened  a  shutter  and  looked  out  upon  the  patio. 
A  goat  was  tethered  there,  crying  to  be  milked.  They 
heard  the  stamping  of  horses.  One  horse  was  scraping 
with  his  forefeet  against  the  floor  of  his  stall.  There 
was  no  sign  of  Stukeley  there,  no  trace  of  him,  nothing 
to  mark  his  presence. 

"  Now  the  other  corridor,"  Margaret  said.  They  re- 
traced their  steps,  walking  on  tiptoe,  listening  intently. 
The  first  room  in  the  other  corridor  was  a  dining-room, 
furnished  with  heavy  Spanish  furniture  of  the  great 
period.  A  lute  lay  on  the  table,  among  wineglasses  half 
full  of  wine,  a  box  of  Peruvian  suckets,  a  box  of  candied 
quinces,  a  dish  of  avocat  pears.  Some  one  had  been 
playing  the  lute,  the  night  before.  The  unknown  player 
had  fitted  a  new  string.  The  broken  string  lay  among 
the  litter  where  it  had  been  thrown.  Flies  were  black 
among  the  suckets.  The  air  smelt  of  the  stale  gums 
which  had  burnt  out  before  a  crucifix  on  the  wall.  A 
shaft  of  sunlight  came  through  a  broken  shutter.  The 
dust  quivered  in  it.  On  the  floor,  in  its  road  of  glory, 


336  CAPTAIN  MAKGABET 

a  column  of  ants  marched,  stumbling  over  crumbs. 
There  was  much  silver  in  the  room.  Over  the  side- 
board was  a  Zurbaran,  too  full  of  personality  to  be 
religious.  Margaret  looked  at  it,  sighing,  thinking  that 
only  lesser  artists  could  save  their  souls.  There  was 
no  trace  of  Stukeley  here.  "  Let's  get  out,"  he  said. 
"  He's  not  here." 

"  There's  three  more  rooms,"  said  West.  They  en- 
tered the  Governor's  office. 

It  was  a  barer  room  than  the  others.  It  contained  a 
table  and  a  few  chairs.  There  were  papers  on  the  table ; 
a  locked  account  book,  a  list  of  resident  Indians,  a  list 
of  citizens  capable  of  bearing  arms,  a  diary  in  cipher. 
Under  the  table,  in  a  coffer,  were  more  account  books, 
Cammock's  portolano,  and  a  copy  of  the  same,  traced 
from  the  originals,  now  nearly  finished. 

"  You  see,  West,"  said  Margaret.  "  You  bear  wit- 
ness that  I  take  these  two  books  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  West.  He  walked  over  to  a  corner 
and  picked  something  up  from  a  chair. 

"  Isn't  this  Mr.  Stukeley's,  sir?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret,  crossing  over  swiftly.  "  It's 
his  hat.  And  there's  his  sword-belt." 

They  stood  together,  looking  at  the  things,  wondering 
how  lately  the  owner  had  flung  them  there,  as  he  ca^ne 
in,  hot,  for  the  onzas.  They  felt  him  to  be  very  near 
them  there.  It  was  as  though  he  were  coming  sneering 
towards  them,  his  fine  teeth  showing.  His  very  words 
came  into  Margaret's  mind,  with  their  exact  inflections. 
"  Found  much  ?  Eh  ? "  Those  were  the  words  he 
would  use. 

"  Hark,"  said  West  suddenly.     They  listened. 

"  What  did  you  think  you  heard  ?  " 

"  There's  some  one  speaking  in  the  next  room,  sir." 

"  Listen." 


THE  END  337 

In  the  hush,  they  heard  a  sound  like  a  sob,  a  low 
murmur  of  words;  then  a  rustling,  chinking  sound. 

"  Like  some  one  praying,"  West  said. 

"  Careful  now,"  said  Margaret.  "  Come  on  after 
me."  They  crept  from  the  office  on  tiptoe,  their  pistols 
ready.  In  the  corridor  a  board  creaked  beneath  them. 
They  paused  guiltily,  straining  their  ears  to  listen. 
They  heard  some  one  cross  the  room  quietly.  Then  the 
door  was  flung  open,  letting  a  glare  of  light  into  the 
corridor.  A  priest  stood  before  them,  holding  up  a 
crucifix.  Within  was  a  bed.  A  woman  knelt  by  the 
bed.  Some  one  lay  on  the  bed,  covered  with  a  cloth. 
Margaret  raised  his  hand,  and  the  priest  stepped  back, 
looking  at  their  faces  curiously. 

"  Donde  esta  el  caballero  ingles  ? "  Margaret  asked. 
" El  senor  Stukeley?" 

A  faint  smile  showed  upon  the  priest's  mouth. 

"  Here,"  he  said  in  good  English.  He  twitched  back 
the  bed-cloth  reverently,  to  show  the  body  of  Stukeley 
lying  dead.  The  face  was  a  dull  yellow,  the  mouth  was 
inflamed.  There  was  no  need  for  further  words. 

"  Vomito,"  said  the  priest. 

"  Yes,"  Margaret  said,  uncovering.     "  Vomito." 

"  This  morning,"  the  priest  said. 

The  woman  rose  from  the  bedside,  as  though  to  drive 
them  away.  She  was  a  black-eyed,  hawk-nosed  woman, 
of  a  crude  and  evil  beauty.  She  was  dressed  in  red  and 
brown,  in  an  outlandish  style.  She  spoke  in  gasps, 
dreadful  to  hear;  using  broken  English,  laced  with 
oaths  and  Spanish  words.  "  Damn,"  she  said. 
"  Damn  perros.  Cabrones  de  piratas." 

"  De  quien  es  ? "  Margaret  stammered,  meaning 
"  Who  are  you  ?  "  He  had  no  gift  of  tongues. 

"  Mrs.  Stukeley,"  the  priest  said.  "  The  widow. 
His  wife." 


338  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  Me  Anna,"  said  the  woman.  "  Me  'is  wife." 
Margaret  bowed ;  words  seemed  useless.  He  was  only 
conscious  of  the  horror  of  it.  He  had  not  been  pre- 
pared for  this.  He  had  sat  at  meat  so  many  times  with 
this  corpse.  He  had  seen  him  so  often,  full  of  life  and 
health,  going  with  a  laugh  to  sin,  in  the  pride  of  the  flesh. 
Now  a  little  thing,  the  bite  of  a  fly,  no  more,  had  brought 
him  to  a  death  among  strangers,  in  this  low  cot  in  the 
wilds,  with  his  beauty  turned  to  horror,  and  his  strength, 
if  anything,  a  fiery  chain  upon  his  soul.  There  he  lay, 
under  an  Indian  cotton,  gone  to  his  reward  so  soon. 
Margaret  had  hated  him.  He  shuddered  now  to  think 
how  he  had  hated  him.  Looking  at  him  as  he  lay  there, 
in  all  the  hideousness  of  death,  he  felt  the  remorse  which 
a  death  brings.  He  felt  ashamed,  as  though  he  had 
struck  the  corpse  by  hating  him  whom  it  had  covered. 
"  It  was  my  fault,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  It  should  have 
been ,  otherwise.  One  ought  to  live  with  this  before 
one."  He  saw  where  he  had  acted  hastily,  where  he  had 
failed.  He  knew  all  that  he  might  have  done.  What 
moved  him  most  was  the  thought  that  Olivia  had  loved 
this  man,  had  loved  him  tenderly,  and  that  he,  Olivia's 
lover  had  never  known  his  character,  had  never  guessed 
what  it  was  in  him  which  was  beautiful  to  her.  Now 
he  would  never  know.  Standing  by  the  side  of  the 
corpse,  he  tasted  all  the  bitterness  of  one  who  has  failed 
to  apprehend  another,  and  learns  of  his  failure  too  late. 
Stukeley  was  dead  now,  the  old  life  was  dead  now.  He 
would  to  God  that  he  were  dead  in  Stukeley's  place, 
and  that  the  old  life  might  be  lived  again.  He  would 
to  God  that  this  man's  passage  to  death  had  been  made 
pleasanter.  He  blamed  himself.  He  was  touched  and 
humbled  almost  to  tears.  "  If  I  had  only  understood," 
he  thought,  "  you  would  not  have  cast  yourself  away 
thus."  Now  he  had  this  to  tell  Olivia. 


THE  END  339 

"  You  were  not  what  I  thought,  Stukeley,"  he  mur- 
mured aloud,  looking  down  at  the  face.  "  You  were  not 
what  I  thought.  You  won  her  love.  You  were  her 
chosen. 

"  My  God,"  he  added  to  himself,  "  you  won  her  by 
that  very  quality  of  certainty  which  made  you  cast  her 
aside."  He  stood  there  trying  to  create,  in  his  moment 
of  tenderness,  fit  words  with  which  to  tell  her,  words 
which  might  comfort  her,  staying  in  her  heart.  The 
words  which  came  to  him  seemed  blunt  and  cold.  The 
only  help  that  he  could  give  to  her  was  to  bury  this 
part  of  her  with  all  reverent  and  noble  rites. 

"  He  was  the  Governor's  secretary,"  said  the  priest. 
"  He  was  not  here  long.  Not  long  in  the  country.  The 
vomito  takes  the  new-comers." 

"  Ah,"  said  Margaret,  starting.  "  How  well  you  talk 
English.  Look  here.  Come  aside  here.  We  must 
bury  him  at  once  ?  " 

"  Before  the  sun,"  the  priest  said,  with  a  shudder. 

"  Where  is  the  burial  ground  ?  " 

He  raised  his  hand  in  benediction  over  the  corpse, 
then  led  Margaret  out  of  the  room.  West  followed 
them,  reverent  and  awed,  speaking  in  a  hushed  voice. 
The  priest  led  them  by  a  back  way  to  the  patio,  thence 
by  a  postern  to  a  side  street,  a  good  two  hundred  yards 
from  the  house.  The  burial-ground  was  hedged  with 
stone,  over  which  some  creepers  had  grown.  Little 
green  lizards  were  darting  among  the  creepers.  They 
glittered  like  cut  glass.  The  gate  of  the  cemetery  swung 
open  on  hinges  of  raw  hide.  When  they  entered,  some 
large  rats  scuttled  to  their  burrows  among  the  graves. 

"  Much  sickness  here,"  said  the  priest.  "  It  is  not 
good  to  dig  deep  in  the  ground." 

"  I  must  dig  this  grave  deep,"  Margaret  answered. 
"  Look  at  the  rats." 


340  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  They  are  large,"  the  priest  said.  "  Much  sickness 
in  this  poor  town." 

"  Where  can  I  find  a  spade  ?  "  Margaret  asked. 

"  Who  knows  ?  "  said  the  priest.  "  You  will  tell  your 
men  to  find  one  ?  Ah  ?  " 

"  I  must  do  this  myself,"  he  answered. 

"  But  your  men  on  the  wall,"  said  the  priest.  "  And 
your  ship  there.  Ah  ?  " 

Margaret  looked  towards  the  west,  over  the  low  sea- 
wall. Some  of  his  men  were  spiking  the  guns  on  the 
platform.  He  could  hear  the  click  of  the  malls  upon 
the  spikes,  as  they  snapped  the  soft  iron  flush  with  the 
gun.  Beyond  them,  very  far  away,  were  the  ships ;  the 
tide  and  the  land-wind  had  set  them  out  to  sea  again. 

"  They  are  waiting  for  the  sea-breeze,"  said  the  priest. 
"  No  getting  in  till  chocolate." 

"  No,"  said  Margaret.  "  Now  take  me,  please,  to 
find  a  spade." 

"  You  are  not  a  privateer  ?  "  the  priest  asked.  "  You 
do  not  sack  us  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered.  "  I  am  not  a  pirate.  I  demand 
the  right  to  trade,  and  the  recognition  of  Andria,  King 
of  Darien." 

"  Don  Andria,"  the  priest  said.  "  Ah  ?  Don  Andria, 
the  King.  And  so  we  are  not  sacked." 

"  Now  let  us  find  a  spade." 

They  searched  for  half  an  hour  before  they  found  a 
spade. 

"  We  do  not  use  spades,"  the  priest  said.  "  We  tickle 
the  earth  with  our  toes  and  it  laughs  fruits  for  us." 

"  I  will  lay  him  here,  West,"  Margaret  said.  "  Look- 
ing towards  England." 

"  Sir,"  the  priest  said,  "  he  was  a  good  Catholic.  He 
must  look  towards  the  east." 


THE  END  341 

"  Ah,"  said  Margaret.  "  And  his  wife  would  like 
that?" 

"  Yes.  Ah,  his  wife,  sir.  Poor  child.  She  was 
only  married  six  weeks." 

"  It  is  sad  for  her.     He  did  not  suffer  much,  father  ?  " 

"  111  for  four  days.  But  yesterday  he  was  better. 
Then  the  fever  grew  again.  As  it  does,  sir,  in  some 
cases.  The  blood  was  before  the  dawn.  Like  a  child, 
sir.  And  his  eyes  turned  upon  the  Cross." 

"  Then  I  will  dig  the  grave  here,"  Margaret  said. 
"  This  will  be  east  and  west  by  my  watch."  He 
scratched  a  narrow  oblong  with  the  point  of  the  spade. 

"  I'll  dig  the  grave  here,"  he  said. 

"  Not  you.  Not  in  the  sun,"  the  priest  said.  "  There 
is  very  much  sickness.  Your  men  will  dig." 

"  I  shall  dig,"  he  answered.  He  felt  that  he  was 
burying  a  part  of  Olivia.  He  would  do  her  that  service. 
He  would  make  a  grave  for  that  unworthy  part  of  her. 
That  act  of  his  should  be  a  part  of  his  penance  towards 
the  dead  man's  ghost. 

"  It  is  very  bad  to  dig  this  ground,"  the  priest  said. 
"  It  is  dust  of  the  dead.  We  do  not  dig  deep  except  for 
an  Excellency.  You  see.  The  rats.  Why  toil,  since 
God  will  bring  them  together  at  the  Resurrection  ?  " 

"  This  is  an  evil  country,"  Margaret  answered,  driv- 
ing the  spade  into  the  earth. 

"  There  is  fever  and  death.  Very  evil,"  said  the 
priest.  "  It  is  not  wholesome  to  be_in  the  sun,  turning 
the  earth,  before  chocolate.  I  will  go  to  the  widow." 

He  left  the  cemetery,  holding  a  handkerchief  across 
his  nose.  The  rats  in  their  burrow-mouths  watched 
him.  One  or  two  of  them  scuttled  to  other  burrows. 
They  seemed  to  play  a  game  of  general  post,  with  Mar- 
garet as  the  "  he." 


342  »     CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  Let  me  have  a  go  at  that  spade,  Captain  Margaret, 
sir,"  said  West. 

"  No.  I  must  do  this,"  he  answered.  "  It  is  dan- 
gerous at  the  top.  Perhaps  deeper  down  you  shall  give 
me  a  hand.  Gather  stones  from  the  wall.  I  want  you 
to  keep  away  from  me,  West.  This  soil  is  full  of  infec- 
tion. Here  is  some  tobacco.  I  want  you  to  smoke,  all 
the  time  you  are  here." 

"  No,  sir,"  said  West,  looking  uncomfortable.  "  Not 
just  now,  thank  you,  sir." 

"  It  will  keep  away  the  infection.     You  do  smoke?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  But  it  wouldn't  be  right,  sir,  nor  respect- 
ful to  Mrs.  Stukeley." 

"  Ah,"  said  Margaret,  feeling  himself  rebuked.  He 
dug  for  a  few  minutes  in  silence;  it  was  light,  sandy 
earth,  easily  shovelled. 

"  I  wish  you'd  let  me  do  that,  sir,"  said  West. 

"  No.     Not  yet,  West." 

"  He  was  a  big  man,  too,  sir.  He'd  'ave  been  a  fine 
big  man  if  he'd  taken  care  of  himself." 

"  Yes,"  Margaret  answered.  "  He  was  a  beautiful 
figure." 

"  There's  a  lot  of  poor  fellows  killed,  sir,"  said  West. 
"  But  somehow  it  don't  come  'ome  like  this  one  does. 
That  yellow  look,  after  what  he  was.  And  the  Spanish 
lady.  She  wasn't  his  real  lady,  sir." 

"  No.     She  wasn't  his  real  lady." 

So  they  talked  as  they  dug  turn  and  turn  about  for 
an  hour  and  a  half,  when  they  had  to  stop  digging.  They 
were  coming  to  water.  The  bottom  of  the  grave  was 
an  inch  or  two  deep  in  water. 

"  We  can  go  no  further,"  Margaret  said.  "  Now 
we'll  get  stones."  They  lined  the  bed  of  the  grave  with 
stones,  and  turned  to  the  house  for  the  body. 

The  priest  and  the  woman  had  laid  the  body  out. 


THE  END  343 

Margaret  ripped  down  one  of  the  long,  jalousied  shutters 
for  a  bier,  while  West  searched  in  the  patio  for  rope. 
An  old  Spanish  tapestry  of  the  death  of  Absalom  served 
as  a  pall.  They  carried  Stukeley  to  the  grave,  the  priest 
preceding  them,  intoning  the  burial  service.  Then,  very 
reverently,  they  lowered  him.  West  and  Margaret  went 
aside  after  this  and  gathered  a  heap  of  lilies  while  the 
woman  and  priest  prayed  together. 

"  Take  her  away,  father,"  Margaret  whispered.  The 
priest  led  the  woman  to  the  house.  She  walked  like 
one  stunned.  Margaret  and  West  leaned  over  the  grave, 
to  look  their  last  on  Stukeley.  They  could  see  the  water 
soaking  into  the  linen,  and  above  that  the  frayed  body 
of  Absalom,  the  handsome  youth,  caught  in  the  thicket, 
as  he  rode.  The  town  was  noisy  beyond  them,  two  hun- 
dred yards  away.  Singing  and  shouting  came  from 
the  Plaza.  It  seemed  to  Margaret  to  be  the  dirge  the 
man  would  have  chosen,  this  singing  and  shouting  of 
men. 

"  Is  that  gentleman's  service  enough,  sir  ? "  West 
asked. 

"  Quite  enough,"  he  answered.  "  You  heard  him  say 
that  Mr.  Stukeley  had  changed  his  religion  ?  " 

"  I'd  feel  easier  if  you'd  say  a  few  words,  sir." 

He  spoke  the  few  words.  Then  with  the  shovel  he 
began  to  fill  in  the  grave,  from  the  foot.  He  placed 
many  heavy  stones  among  the  earth,  so  that  the  rats 
might  be  foiled.  When  he  had  levelled  the  surface  he 
heaped  a  cairn  of  stones  at  the  head,  and  laid  the  lilies 
there.  He  went  to  a  neighbouring  garden,  and  dug  up 
an  arnotto  rose-bush,  to  plant  upon  the  grave.  When 
this  had  been  planted,  the  rites  were  over,  he  could  do 
no  more.  They  stood  looking  down  at  the  grave  for  a 
moment,  before  they  left  the  graveyard.  The  singing 
was  loud  behind  them.  In  front  of  them,  darkening 


344  CAPTAIN  MAEGAEET 

under  the  breeze,  was  the  bay,  with  the  ships  and  sloops 
running  in,  distant  some  two  or  three  miles. 

"  Come,  West,"  Margaret  said.  "  I  must  see  after 
the  wounded."  He  took  a  last  look  at  the  grave,  at  the 
already  drooping  lilies  and  dejected  rose-bush.  "  Good- 
bye, Stukeley,"  he  murmured.  He  stooped,  and  picked 
some  rose-buds,  and  a  little  scrap  of  stone  from  the 
grave,  putting  them  carefully  in  a  pocket-case.  "  Now 
smoke,  West,"  he  said.  "  And  rub  tobacco  on  your 
hands." 

He  reproached  himself  for  having  neglected  his 
wounded  for  so  long;  but  he  knew  that  Tucket  and  Pain 
would  look  to  them.  He  wished  that  the  singing  and 
shouting  would  stop.  "  Old  Eose  "  and  "  The  green 
grass  grew  "  were  not  songs  which  the  army  in  his  mind 
had  sung.  Thermopylae  was  not  possible  to  an  army 
which  sang  such  songs.  Pistol-shots  marked  the  sing- 
ing of  each  stanza;  there  were  yells  and  cries.  He 
thought  he  heard  the  screams  of  women.  He  saw  two 
men  come  from  a  house  with  their  arms  full  of 
plunder.  "  My  God,"  he  said  to  himself  bitterly.  "  Is 
Stukeley  to  check  me  even  in  death  ? "  He  drew  his 
pistols  again.  "  Come  on,  West,"  he  cried.  He  ran  to 
the  two  looters. 

"  What  are  you  doing?  "  he  said.  "  Take  that  stuff 
back  where  you  got  it." 

"  Get  ter  hell,"  said  the  men.  "  You  ain't  our  cap- 
tain. Who  in  hell  are  yer  talking  to  ? "  Both  men 
were  drunk.  One  of  them  had  been  wounded  in  the 
head. 

"  I  been  doing  your  dirty  work  all  morning,"  said  the 
wounded  man,  with  drunken  gravity.  "  I'm  a  free 
man,  and  I'm  getting  a  little  for  myself.  You  ain't 
my  cap.  Wot  d'yer  talk  to  us  for  ?  Go  and  see  'em  in 
the  Plaza,"  said  the  other  man.  "  Git  ter  the  swamps 


THE  END  345 

and  shove  yer  'ed  in."  They  rolled  off  shouting.  The 
noise  in  the  Plaza  became  louder  at  each  moment.  It 
was  useless  to  shoot  the  looters ;  two-thirds  of  the  whole 
force  were  looting.  Pain  himself  was  looting. 

Indeed,  the  sight  of  the  Plaza  haunted  Margaret  like 
a  nightmare  till  he  died.  Of  the  two  hundred  men 
gathered  there,  hardly  thirty  were  sober.  These  stood 
aloof  under  Tucket,  guarding  the  wounded  and  laughing 
at  the  antics  of  the  rest.  A  heap  of  loot  was  piled  under 
the  cotton  tree.  At  every  moment  a  buccaneer  added 
to  the  pile.  Wine  casks  lay  open  about  the  square, 
with  drunken  men  lying  near  them,  in  the  sun,  too 
drunk  to  stir.  Other  drunkards,  with  linked  arms, 
danced  and  sang,  making  catcalls  and  obscene  noises. 
A  half -conscious  girl  lay  against  a  wall,  gasping,  shaken 
by  hysteria.  Her -wild  eyes  were  hard  and  dry,  her 
hands  clutched  the  dress  across  her  bosom.  Parties  of 
drunken  men  hacked  at  doors  with  axes,  and  tossed 
household  gear  through  the  windows  on  to  the  heads  of 
other  drunkards  beneath.  Some  had  been  torturing  a 
Spaniard  with  woolding.  The  man  lay  dead  with  the 
cords  about  him,  his  face  in  the  sands.  Others,  in 
wantonness,  were  now  firing  the  church,  dancing  ob- 
scenely about  in  the  priests'  robes.  Women  were 
screaming  in  an  upper  room.  A  dozen  savages  pursued 
one  shrieking  woman.  They  bawled  filthy  jests  to  each 
other  as  they  ran.  Margaret  stood  over  her,  as  she  fell, 
moaning,  unable  to  run  further.  He  drove  the  ruffians 
back,  threatening  them  with  his  sword. 

"  It's  the  cap,"  they  said.  "  If  the  cap  wants  'er  he 
must  'ave  'er."  He  placed  the  woman  in  a  house  which 
had  been  sacked;  it  seemed  the  safest  place  in  that 
lost  city.  Pain  came  by  him,  drunk,  dragging  a  silver 
tray. 

"  No  looting,"  the  drunkard  called.     "  Strictly  col- 


340  CAPTAIN  MARGAKET 

lege  gents.  No  looting  'tall.  None.  Won't  have  it. 
No."  He  passed  on,  crying  drunken  catcalls.  The 
eastern  side  of  the  town,  fanned  by  the  breeze,  was  fast 
spreading  to  a  blaze.  The  dry  wood  crackled  as  the 
flame  caught.  The  church  roof  was  pouring  smoke. 
Little  flames  were  licking  out  from  the  eaves.  "  My 
God.  My  God,"  said  Margaret.  "  And  this  is  my  act 
and  deed.  My  act  and  deed."  He  went  to  Tucket, 
who  stood  with  the  wounded,  grimly  watching  it  all. 
He  could  not  speak.  He  could  only  shake  his  head, 
white  to. the  lips. 

"  How's  this  for  hell  ?  "  said  Tucket.  "  This  is  Cap- 
tain Pain.". 

"  Are  the  guards  at  the  gates  still  ? "  Margaret  an- 
swered. 

"  Some  of  'em  are.  Your  own  men  are.  Mine  are. 
I  never  saw  men  like  these,  though." 

"  Let's  get  the  wounded  to  the  boats.  How  many 
have  we  ?  How  many  men  are  steady  still  ?  " 

"  Sir,"  Tucket  answered,  "  I've  twenty-five  men  by 
me.  We  lost  fourteen  killed.  There's  nineteen  hurt 
here.  That's  fifty-eight.  Say  there's  twenty  at  the 
gates  still.  That  leaves  a  matter  of  a  hundred  and 
seventy  like  what  you  see.  Get  them  hurt  into  the 
carts,  boys,  and  start  'em  to  the  boats.  Gently  does  it. 
That's  you." 

They  laid  the  wounded  men  in  litters  and  carts,  and 
wheeled  them  down  gently  to  the  canoas.  Margaret 
walked  by  the  side  of  the  carts,  talking  to  the  men 
about  their  wounds,  fanning  them  with  his  handker- 
chief, getting  drink  for  them,  wetting  their  brows  with 
water  whenever  they  passed  a  cistern.  The  ships 
were  then  coming  to  anchor  within  half  a  mile  of  the 
town. 


THE  END  347 

"  You  won't  be  long  in  the  boats,"  he  told  the  wounded 
men.  "  You'll  soon  be  in  bed  on  board.  You  can  see 
the  ships.  There  they  are.  Do  you  see  ?  " 

He  spoke  to  Tucket,  urging  that  they  should  with- 
draw the  guards  from  the  east  and  north  gates,  lest 
the  Spaniards,  guessing  what  had  happened,  should 
attack  suddenly,  and  overpower  them. 

"  I've  already  sent,"  said  Tucket.  "  I  ain't  goin'  to 
lose  good  men  because  these  swine  choose  to  raise  hell. 
This  was  Captain  Pain's  piece.  The  sooner  we're  off 
the  better." 

"  I'd  sound  the  assembly,"  Margaret  said.  "  But  the 
trumpeter's  drunk." 

"  Could  we  ring  the  church  bell  or  something,  sir  ? " 
said  one  of  the  men. 

"  The  church  is  on  fire." 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir.  But  we'd  oughtn't  to  wait,"  said 
Tucket.  "  We'd  ought  to  get  these  fellers  on  board. 
The  sun's  strong.  And  we  got  to  make  two  journeys 
as  it  is." 

At  the  boats  they  were  joined  by  the  north-gate 
guards,  about  a  dozen  men  in  all. 

"  We  can  only  send  away  six  canoas  at  a  time,"  Mar- 
garet said.  "  That'll  mean  twenty-four  oars.  Two 
wounded  men  in  each  canoa.  You  can't  put  more, 
comfortably." 

"  That's  so,"  said  Tucket.  "  Get  'em  in,  sons.  Ask 
Captain  Cammock  to  fire  guns." 

They  manned  six  canoas,  and  laid  the  worst  cases 
in  the  sternsheets.  The  one  sober  doctor  went  with 
them.  He  was  a  clever  surgeon,  pretty  well  known  all 
over  the  Indies  as  Doctor  Glass  Case.  He  had  left 
England  under  a  cloud;  it  was  not  known  why.  No 
man  knew  his  real  name. 


348  CAPTAIN  MAKGAKET 

"  Take  them  aboard  the  Broken  Heart/'  Margaret 
said.  "  And  then  come  back  for  the  rest.  Tell  Cap- 
tain Cammock  how  things  stand  herel" 

The  boats  shoved  off  from  the  shore  below  the  water- 
gate.  Boat-covers  propped  on  oars  made  awnings  for 
the  wounded.  Margaret  and  Tucket  watched  them 
quartering  on  each  other,  stringing  out  into  line,  some 
of  the  stroke  oars  splashing,  so  as  to  spatter  water,  by 
request,  into  the  faces  of  the  wounded. 

"  Gully-shooting,"  Tucket  said. 

"  They're  racing,"  said  Margaret.  He  thought  how 
strongly  these  men  resembled  boys.  They  never  lost 
a  chance  of  competing.  Now,  in  that  hot  sun,  after 
seven  hours  of  exertion,  they  were  making  the  broad 
oars  bend,  driving  the  canoas  through  it,  racing  to  the 
ship. 

Men  came  straggling  to  the  water-gate,  asking  if 
they  were  to  go  aboard.  Margaret  and  Tucket  told 
them  to  tend  the  wounded,  while  they  returned  to  the 
Plaza  to  try  to  bring  off  the  rest  of  the  hands.  There 
was  no  question  of  holding  the  town.  The  east  side 
was  a  roaring  bonfire.  All  that  they  could  hope  was 
that  the  Spaniards  would  not  attack. 

"  There  are  three  garrisons  only  twelve  miles  away," 
Margaret  said. 

"  Yes,"  Tucket  answered.  "  And  them  we  fit  this 
morning  must  be  in  the  woods." 

"  I  thought  I  could  have  trusted  Pain/'  said  Mar- 
garet. "  They  would  have  ransomed  the  town.  It's  a 
merchant  town.  Look  at  all  the  balsam  sheds.  And 
now  they've  thrown  it  away." 

"  That  was  Captain  Pain,"  said  Tucket.  "  He  said 
as  all  he  wanted  was  for  you  to  help  him  take  the  town. 
He'd  do  the  rest,  he  said.  He's  deceived  you,  sir. 
Deceived  you  all  along.  He  was  telling  his  hands  just 


THE  EKD  349 

now,  he  was  going  to  seize  your  ship,  as  soon  as  he  got 
the  stuff  aboard." 

They  were  entering  the  Plaza  as  Tucket  said  this. 
They  were  just  in  time  to  see  the  church  roof  fall  in, 
with  a  sudden  uprush  of  fire.  Many  of  Pain's  men 
were  dragging  the  loot  out  of  the  heat.  They  were 
stripped  nearly  naked.  They  tossed  the  heavy  silver 
from  hand  to  hand.  Sometimes  a  piece  was  flung  at  a 
man's  head,  and  then  a  fight  would  begin.  At  least 
thirty  men  lay  drunk  about  the  square,  too  drunk  to 
move.  About  thirty  others  formed  a  rank  across  the 
eastern  side,  firing  and  clubbing  at  the  rats  which  ran 
from  the  burning  houses.  They  turned  and  fired  at 
the  rats  which  broke  through  them.  The  Plaza  hummed 
with  flying  bullets.  Bullets  were  chipping  the  adobe 
walls.  Splintered  tiles  of  a  soft  warm  redness  lay  in 
flakes  below  each  house.  Whenever  a  rat  was  killed, 
the  slayers  yelled  and  screamed,  swinging  the  corpse 
by  the  tail,  hitting  each  other  in  the  face.  Tears  ran 
down  Margaret's  cheeks.  He  had  never  before  seen 
a  sight  like  this.  He  had  never  seen  a  mob  at  work. 
And  these  were  the  men  he  had  led;  these  were  the 
men  who  were  to  found  a  new  nation  with  him. 

A  sudden  roar  of  cannon  made  them  turn  to  look 
seaward.  The  Broken  Heart  was  wreathed  in  smoke 
from  a  broadside;  but  as  the  smoke  blew  clear  they 
could  see  the  danger  signal;  the  foretopsail  dropping 
to  the  cap,  and  a  red  weft  dipped  at  the  peak.  Two 
musket-shots  followed  from  the  fo'c's'le. 

"  Danger  from  the  south,"  said  Margaret.  "  Here 
are  the  garrisons." 

Pain  lay  in  the  sand,  propped  against  a  wine  cask, 
with  his  hat  tilted  over  his  eyes.  Margaret  ran  to  him 
and  shook  him.  "  Up,"  he  cried.  "  Wake  up,  man." 

A  man  came  running  from  the  south  gate  shouting, 


350  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

"  The  Dagoes.  The  Dagoes."  He  was  bleeding  from 
his  mouth.  He  was  gasping  his  life  out  as  he  ran. 
"  Dagoes,"  he  gurgled.  "  Dagoes,  you."  He  stood  for 
a  moment,  swaying,  pointing  half  round  the  compass 
behind  him. 

"  Right,  son,"  said  Tucket.  "  Take  a  rest.  You're 
hit.  Lie  down." 

The  man  stared  at  him  stupidly,  groping  with  his 
hands.  "Take.  These  feathers.  Off  my  teeth,"  he 
gasped,  and  sank  forward  gently  from  his  knees,  dead. 

Tucket  kicked  Pain  savagely. 

"  Wha's  a  marrer  ?  Wharrer  hell's  the  marrer  ?  " 
said  Pain,  struggling  to  his  feet. 

"We're  attacked,"  said  Margaret,  shaking  him. 
"  Get  your  men.  Lord,  man,  get  your  men  to  the  south 
gate." 

"  Hands  off,  you  damcarajo,"  he  answered  angrily. 
"  Why  the  hell  couldn't  you  look  out  ?  Hadn't  you 
sense  enough  to  set  a  sentry?  I'm  awake.  You  Port 
Mahon  fiddler.  What  in  hell  are  you  looking  at  me  for  ? 
Get  the  men." 

The  guns  of  the  Broken  Heart  opened  fire  in  succes- 
sion, blowing  white  rings  over  the  trucks.  Heavy 
musket-fire  was  breaking  out  at  the  south  gate.  Some 
of  the  rat-catchers  ran  towards  it. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  like  that,"  said  Margaret.  "  You 
drunken  little  boor.  See  what  you've  done.  You  and 
your  gang  of  thieves.  Look  at  your  work.  Look  at 
it.  Answer  me  again  and  I'll  run  you  through." 

"  Lord's  sake,"  Tucket  cried.  "  They're  on  to  us. 
Here  they  are.  Cuidado,  sons." 

"  I'll  talk  t'you  later,"  Pain  said.  "  Up  with  her, 
sons.  Rally  an'  bust  'em."  He  unslung  his  piece,  and 
ran,  followed  by  the  others,  to  the  south  road.  They 
reached  the  mouth  of  it  in  time  to  see  their  fellows 


THE  END  351 

scattering  towards  them  from  the  breach.  All  the  wall 
was  covered  with  clambering  Spaniards,  hundreds  of 
them.  They  came  swarming  on  like  a  wave  of  bodies, 
firing  and  dropping  down  to  load,  firing  again,  ever 
firing,  till  the  air  was  full  of  fire.  Margaret  saw  priva- 
teers running  up  to  support  him.  They  came  from  all 
sides,  fifty  or  sixty  men  in  all,  enough  to  make  a  rough 
double  rank  across  the  street.  They  made  a  stand 
here,  at  the  corner  of  the  Plaza,  fighting  steadily  and 
well,  but  losing  heavily.  Margaret  picked  up  a  gun  and 
fired  with  them,  praying  only  that  a  bullet  might  find 
him  soon.  He  had  no  thought  of  anything  save  that. 
He  had  failed.  JSTow  he  would  die  unpitied  in  a  hope- 
less fight  against  odds.  There  were  several  hundreds 
of  Spaniards  coming  up,  and  the  privateers'  ammuni- 
tion failed.  They  were  searching  the  dead  for  cart- 
ridges. Men  were  running  back  to  the  Plaza  to  search 
the  drunkards  for  cartridges.  A  few  men  climbed  to 
the  roof  of  a  house,  and  fired  above  the  smoke  into  the 
enemy.  Margaret  climbed  up  with  them,  so  that  he 
might  order  the  battle.  He  lay  on  the  tiles  with  the 
rest,  firing  and  cheering.  For  ten  minutes  they  lay 
there,  firing  till  they  had  no  more  powder.  Then,  as 
the  smoke  cleared  away,  he  saw  that  a  troop  of  horse 
was  coming  up.  He  saw  the  Indian  lances  swaying 
like  boat-masts  in  a  sea.  He  climbed  down  from  his 
perch,  at  that,  and  gave  the  word  to  retire,  fighting, 
to  the  boats.  He  knew  that  the  fight  now  was  only 
a  matter  of  moments. 

The  men  fell  back,  losing  heavily.  The  Spaniards 
pressed  on,  cheering,  trying  to  flank  them.  At  the 
boats  was  a  mob  of  flying  drunkards,  struggling  with 
the  boat-guard.  They  were  trying  to  get  the  canoas 
for  the  loot.  The  beach  was  littered  with  loot.  A 
couple  of  thousand  pounds'  worth  of  plate  was  lying 


352  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

in  the  sands.  Seventy  or  eighty  men  were  fighting  in 
the  water,  shouting  and  damning,  tugging  the  canoas 
to  and  fro.  They  left  the  canoas  when  the  fight  ranged 
down  to  the  beach.  They  ran  to  save  the  plate  from 
the  sands,  to  snatch  the  loot  from  under  the  feet  of 
the  fighters.  They  shrieked,  with  tears  in  their  eyes,  to 
the  fighters.  They  struck  at  them  with  fists  and  guns 
and  candlesticks,  telling  them  to  save  the  loot,  damn 
them,  save  this  precious  gear,  never  mind  the  Dagoes. 
The  fighters  struck  back  at  them,  clubbing  their  guns. 
That  was  the  end  of  the  fighting.  The  ranks  broke. 
Fighters,  drunkards,  boat-guard,  all  the  wreck  of  the 
force,  were  jumbled  in  a  mob  among  the  boats,  knee- 
deep  in  water.  Margaret,  Tucket,  and  a  few  more, 
managed  to  keep  clear  of  the  mob,  and  fired  at  the 
sallyport  as  the  Spaniards  pressed  through  to  end  them. 
Tucket's  mate  cooly  filled  their  pockets  with  cartridges, 
helping  himself  from  the  men  about  him.  Two  canoas 
upset;  a  third,  with  only  three  men  in  her,  drew  clear 
and  pulled  for  the  ships.  Spaniards  were  on  the  walls 
above  them,  firing  into  them  from  the  platform.  The 
dead  and  dying  men  were  beaten  down  and  stamped 
on  by  the  herd  of  wild  beasts  in  the  water.  Margaret 
was  careless  how  it  ended  for  him.  He  had  no  wish  to 
live.  He  felt  only  the  horror  of  having  mixed  with 
men  like  these,  of  having  led  them,  of  having  soiled 
his  honour  for  ever  with  them.  His  gun  was  shattered 
with  a  bullet;  the  wound  in  his  shoulder  had  broken 
out  again;  he  could  feel  his  shirt,  sized  with  blood 
gluing  to  his  skin.  He  drew  his  sword,  and  waited, 
looking  at  the  walls,  watching  the  heads  of  the  Spaniards 
showing  in  glimpses  among  the  smoke.  As  he  looked 
there  came  a  rush  above  him.  A  yard  of  the  wall 
shattered  into  dust  with  a  burst.  Cammock  had  opened 
on  the  town  with  his  broadside.  That  saved  them. 


THE  END  353 

He  was  in  the  water  still.  Some  loaded  canoas  were 
pulling  clear.  The  last  canoas  were  loading.  A  dozen 
steady  men,  calmed  by  the  gun-fire,  were  covering  the 
retreat.  One  by  one  they  climbed  into  the  canoas, 
firing  over  the  gunwales,  standing  up  to  fire,  anxious 
to  have  the  last  word.  A  canoa  which  had  pulled  clear 
backed  up  to  Margaret,  and  a  voice  shouted  in  his  ear. 
Looking  round,  he  saw  that  it  was  Pain,  a  grimed  and 
bloody  scarecrow,  still  savage  with  drink. 

"  You  Portuguese  get,"  the  drunkard  screamed. 
"You  called  me  down  just  now.  Did  you,  by  God. 
You  junk-laid  carajo.  ISTow  I'm  even.  See  ? "  He 
swung  his  knobbed  pistol  on  to  Margaret's  brow  with  a 
smash,  knocking  him  senseless.  "  Give  way,"  he 
shouted.  "  Give  way.  That's  what  I  give  to  college 
gents  what  gets  gay  with  Captain  Pain." 

When  Margaret  recovered  consciousness  he  was  in 
the  last  canoa,  a  hundred  yards  from  the  shore.  One 
of  the  Indians  was  mopping  his  brow  with  water. 
Tucket,  who  was  steering,  was  uncorking  a  rum-flask 
with  his  teeth. 

"  You'll  be  all  right,"  Tucket  said.  "  Take  a  rinse 
of  this." 

"  I'm  all  right,"  he  answered,  with  a  little,  hysterical 
laugh.  "  Where  is  that  man  ?  The  man  who  hit  me  ?  " 

"  Gone  aboard  your  ship,"  said  Tucket. 

"  My  God,"  he  answered.     "  Give  way  then,  quick." 

He  sat  up,  fully  roused,  splashing  water  over  his 
head.  He  felt  ill  and  stupid;  but  the  thought  of  pos- 
sible danger  to  Olivia  roused  him.  Looking  back,  he 
saw  Tolu  blazing  above  the  palm-tree  tops,  the  flames 
sucking  at  the  forest,  scorching  the  boughs.  Looking 
forward,  he  saw  the  Broken  Heart,  with  men  struggling 
on  her  gangway  amid  the  flash  of  pistols. 

"  Captain  Pain,"  Tucket  said.     "  Up  with  her,  boys." 


354  CAPTAIN  MAEGAEET 

"  I  cain't  row  no  harder,"  said  one  of  the  men  petu- 
lantly, like  a  child  about  to  cry.  "  I  see  old  Jimmy 
shot,  as  I  owed  the  dollar  to.  It  ain't  my  fault,  cap." 

"  If  I  put  any  more  weight  on,"  said  another  rower, 
"this  oar'l  go  in  the  slings.  It's  got  a  chewed  slug 
through  the  service." 

Margaret  noticed  then,  for  the  first  time,  that  the 
canoa  had  a  foot  of  water  in  her.  There  were  seven 
men  in  her.  Tucket,  himself,  an  Indian,  and  four 
rowers,  all  of  them  wounded. 

"  Let  me  take  an  oar,"  he  said.  "  Give  me  your  oar, 
bowman.  You're  hit." 

"  I  ain't  goin'  to  lay  up,"  the  bowman  answered. 
"  A  sailor  don't  lay  up,  nor  he  don't  take  medicine, 
not  till  he's  dying,  and  then  he  don't  need  to." 

"  Let  me  double-bank  the  stroke  then." 

"  You  stay  still,"  Tucket  said.  "  You  been  as  near 
it  as  most.  We're  the  last  canoa.  D'ye  know  what 
that  means  ?  We  five  got  an  upset  boat  and  righted  her. 
The  Spaniards  were  riding  after  us  finishing  the 
wounded.  Eobin  there,  the  Indian,  saved  you.  He 
swam  a  matter  of  thirty  yards  with  you  before  we  picked 
him  up.  Then  we'd  to  lie-to  and  bale  her  out  before 
she  sank,  with  the  Dagoes  blazing  hell  at  us.  As  it  is, 
we're  only  crawling." 

"  Eobin,"  said  Margaret,  "  I  shall  tell  Don  Toro  to 
call,  you  by  my  name." 

The  Indian  sucked  in  his  golden  nose-plate,  and 
cringed  upon  his  hams,  grinning.  He  was  the  only 
happy  man  in  the  force,  this  Indian  "  sin  razon." 
Tucket  added  to  his  happiness  by  hailing  him  with  his 
new  name,  in  his  own  speech  of  San  Bias  pigeon,  a 
jumble  of  Spanish  and  Indian,  spoken  as  English. 

"  You  Captain  Margaret  now,  Eobin.  Sabe  ?  You 
Capitano.  Capitano  sobre  tula  guannah  anivego.  Ma- 


THE  END  355 

maubah.  Eh?  Shennorung  Capitano.  Muchas  mu- 
jercillas.  Eh  ? " 

Five  hundred  yards  further  on  the  rowers  had  to 
rest.  They  splashed  themselves  with  water,  took  a 
drink  of  spirits,  and  lay  back  in  the  stern-sheets.  They 
were  worn  out.  Margaret  was  worn  out,  too.  •  He  had 
no  strength  left  in  him.  He  lay  back,  dully,  watching 
the  ship;  noting,  though  with  no  intellectual  compre- 
hension, an  array  of  men  passing  down  the  gangway, 
making  a  great  noise.  It  was  still,  after  the  roar  of 
the  battle.  The  cries  and  oaths  came  down  the  wind 
to  him,  clearly,  across  the  water.  He  saw  three  long 
canoas,  full  of  men,  pull  clear  from  the  ship's  side, 
with  one  man,  not  very  big,  standing  in  the  sternsheets 
of  the  largest,  shrilly  cursing  at  the  ship.  "  That's  my 
note,"  were  the  only  words  which  he  could  catch. 
"  That's  my  note."  He  wondered  whose  note  and  what 
note  it  could  be.  But  his  head  was  reeling;  he  didn't 
really  care. 

"  There's  a  woman  in  the  canoa  there,"  said  one  of 
the  rowers. 

"  My  God,"  he  said,  rousing  up,  as  the  beaten  boxer 
rises,  though  spent,  at  his  second's  cheer.  "  It's  not 
Mrs.  Stukeley  ?  It's  not  Mrs.  Stukeley  ?  " 

"  ISTo,  sir,"  said  a  rower.     "  The  other  lady." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  looking  intently.  "  The  other. 
Mrs.  Inigo.  What's  happened  ?  " 

"  Pain's  got  your  crew,"  Tucket  answered.  "  He's 
leaving  you  to  the  Spaniards." 

Dully,  as  they  passed  about  the  rum-flask,  they  saw 
the  boats  draw  up  to  Pain's  ship.  They  saw  sail  made 
upon  her,  the  sprit-sail  for  casting,  the  topgallant-sails 
in  the  buntlines.  Soon  she  was  under  way,  lying  over 
to  the  breeze,  sailing  a  point  or  two  free,  bound  past 
the  Mestizos  to  the  southward.  Her  men,  gathered  on 


356  CAPTAIN  MAKGARET 

her  poop  to  hoist  the  mizen,  cursed  the  Broken  Heart 
from  the  taffrail,  firing  a  volley  of  pistols  at  her  in 
farewell.  Two  of  the  three  sloops  sailed  at  the  same 
time.  As  they  pased  away,  crowding  all  sail,  foaming 
at  the  bows  with  their  eight-knot  rush,  Margaret  heard 
the  chanties  at  the  halliards,  a  broken  music,  coming 
in  the  gusts  of  the  wind. 

Tucket  took  one  of  the  oars,  and  sat  at  the  thwart 
wearily,  searching  for  a  helper  among  the  sternsheets. 
Captain  Margaret,  the  Indian,  could  not  row.  The 
other  five  were  exhausted.  "  Boys,"  he  said,  "  if  we 
don't  get  a  gait  on  us,  we'll  be  sunstruck.  We're  losing 
way,  too.  The  breeze  is  setting  us  ashore." 

Margaret  rose  up  wearily,  like  a  man  in  a  dream, 
and  sat  down  to  row  at  the  thwart.  They  pulled  a 
ragged  stroke  together.  They  were  too  tired  to  do 
much.  They  pulled  a  few  strokes,  and  paused,  to  look 
round.  Then  pulled  again  painfully  and  again  paused. 
One  of  the  men  took  up  a  pistol  and  fired  into  the  air. 
"  We'll  never  make  it,"  he  said.  He  fired  again  and 
again,  till  some  one  in  the  ship  caught  sight  of  them  and 
fired  in  reply.  A  boat  manned  by  half  a  dozen  men  put 
off  to  them,  veering  out  line  astern,  so  that  those  aboard 
might  heave  them  in  at  the  capstan.  Cammock  and 
Perrin  were  two  of  the  rowers,  the  only  two  who  could 
pull  an  oar;  the  negro  steward  steered.  The  rest  of 
them  rowed  like  marines  on  pay-day  going  through  the 
platoon.  The  wounded  and  weary  smiled  to  see  them ; 
they  had  never  seen  such  rowing.  Slowly  they  drew 
up.  Margaret  saw  Perrin  and  Cammock  glancing  over 
their  shoulders  at  him.  They  cheered  and  waved  when 
they  saw  him.  He  waved  his  unhurt  arm  to  them. 
The  canoa  swung  round  and  backed  alongside.  Cam- 
mock,  laying  in  his  oar,  shifted  his  towing-line  to  the 
bow,  and  bent  to  it  the  painter  of  Tucket's  canoa,  so 


THE  END  357 

that  the  boats  might  tow  together.  "  Let  your  oars 
swing  fore  and  aft,  boys,"  he  said.  He  lifted  his  voice, 
and  yelled  to  the  ship  to  heave  in.  "  Well,  sir,"  he 
said,  coming  aft  alongside  Margaret.  "  And  how  are 
you?  I'm  glad  to  see  you  alive.  The  men  said  you 
were  killed." 

"  I'm  all  right,"  he  said.  "  But  we  had.  We  had 
enough,  over  there.  What  has  happened  in  the  ship  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Cammock.  "  Pain's  gone  off  with 
most  of  what  were  left  to  us.  That's  what  happened." 

"  Tell  me,"  Margaret  said.     "  How  was  it  ?  " 

"  I  was  on  deck  with  Mr.  Perrin  till  the  last  canoas 
were  putting  off,"  Cammock  answered.  "We'd  been 
working  the  guns.  We  saw  there  was  rather  a  mess. 
Then  the  doctor  sends  for  us  two  to  help  him  take  "off 
Jowett's  leg.  So  we  went  into  the  wardroom,  where  he 
was  working.  We  heard  the  boats  come  alongside,  and 
Pain  lashing  out  like  a  chocalatto-north ;  so  when  we 
got  the  arteries  fast,  and  Jowett  in  a  cot,  we  ran  on 
deck  to  see  if  you  were  safe  and  to  see  what  the  row 
was.  They'd  been  making  enough  row  to  caulk  a  flag- 
ship. That  was  too  late,  then.  Pain  had  been  saying 
that  you  were  dead,  that  you'd  spoiled  the  show  and 
got  a  hundred  of  'em  killed.  God  knows  what  he  hadn't 
said.  More'n  half  of  them  were  drunk.  Our  lot  had 
been  up  all  night.  So  by  the  time  we  got  on  deck  they 
were  bundling  their  bags  into  the  canoas.  There  was 
that  Fraser  fellow  going  down  the  gangway  with  one 
of  our  guns.  I  knocked  him  back  where  he  belonged. 
Then  they  began  to  fire.  I'll  show  you  my  hat  when  we 
get  aboard.  Then  they  tried  to  rush  the  gangway.  So 
I  cut  the  fall,  and  spilled  'em  off  it.  We'd  a  lively  fight 
for  a  few  minutes.  Pain  and  Ackett's  lots  (Ackett's 
lot  weren't  so  bad)  went  off  then.  It  was  them  really 
kept  Pain  back  a  bit.  They  said  they'd  play  hell  with 


358  CAPTAIN  MAEGAEET 

Springer's  Key  for  me.  Ackett's  lot  said  I'd  better 
stand  in  with  them.  They  said  they'd  seen  you  corpsed 
on  the  beach." 

"  He  wasn't  far  off  it,"  Tucket  said.  "  But  for  this 
capitano  here." 

"  Mrs.  Inigo  went  off  with  lies,"  said  Perrin. 
"  They've  gone  with  Pain  and  the  rest." 

"  The  rest.  The  rest.  What  rest  ?  We  must  have 
lost.  Oh,  my  God,"  said  Margaret  weakly.  "  We  must 
have  lost  half.  Was  any  roll  called  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Perrin.  "  Twelve  of  your  men  went  to 
your  sloop,  Captain  Tucket,  after  bringing  off  some 
wounded.  They  said  there  was  hell  to  pay  ashore,  so 
they  stayed  here.  That  was  before  the  attack.  And 
you've  five  more  here;  seventeen  that  makes,  besides 
your  ship-keepers." 

"We've  got  eleven  left,"  Cammock  said,  "besides 
nineteen  wounded  and  the  doctor.  Not  counting  them. 
Tucket,  we  got  thirty-nine  able-bodied  between  us. 
Twenty-four  of  them  yours." 

"  By  the  way,  I've  got  your  maps,  Cammock,"  Mar- 
garet said.  "  Here  they  are.  I'm  sorry  they're  so  wet. 
I  fell  in  the  sea  coming  off." 

Cammock  took  the  maps  with  a  groan.  "  Thank  you 
very  much,  sir,"  he  said.  "  But  I  don't  much  value  the 
maps,  though,  when  I  think  of  what's  happened." 

"  It  must  have  been  hell,"  said  Perrin. 

"  Yes,"  Margaret  answered.     "  It  was  hell." 

"  Why  didn't  Pain  take  4he  ship  ? "  Perrin  asked. 
"  That's  what  puzzles  me." 

"  Afraid  you'd  government  friends,  sir.  Besides. 
He  thought  if  he  took  your  men  the  Dagoes'd  get  you." 

Very  slowly  the  men  at  the  capstan  walked  the  canoas 
to  the  side.  Margaret  stood  on  his  own  deck  again, 
asking  himself  how  many  years  had  gone  since  he  last 


THE  END  359 

stood  there.  The  guns  were  cast  loose.  Kound  shot, 
fallen  from  the  garlands,  rolled  to  and  fro  as  the  ship 
rolled.  The  decks  were  littered  with  wads.  Smears,  as 
of  lamp-black,  showed  where  the  gun-sponges  had  been 
dropped.  The  hammock-nettings  were  fire-pocked  and 
filthy.  There  were  marks  of  blood  on  the  coamings, 
where  wounded  men  had  lain,  waiting  to  be  carried 
below. 

"  Charles,"  said  Perrin,  "  you  come  to  the  cabin  and 
lie  down.  I'll  fetch  Olivia  to  you.  She's  with  the 
wounded.  What  about  Stukeley  ?  " 

"  He's  dead,  Edward.  He  died  of  yellow  fever  this 
morning.  I  buried  him." 

"My  God.     Dead?" 

"  Yes.     He  was  married  there." 

"  He  deserted  then,  that  time  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  so  he's  dead.     The  dead  are." 

"  The  dead  are  our  only  links  with  God,  I  think," 
Margaret  said  gravely.  "  I've  been  in  hell  to-day,  Ed- 
ward. In  hell.  In  hell." 

He  lay  down  on  the  window-seat  in  the  cabin,  where 
Stukeley  had  so  often  lain.  The  breeze  had  swung  the 
ship  head  to  sea.  He  had  only  to  turn  his  head  to  see 
the  fire  of  Tolu,  burning  below  its  pillar  of  cloud.  The 
sea-wall  spurted  with  smoke  at  intervals.  The  flashes 
were  very  white  and  bright,  not  like  the  smoke  of  fire- 
locks. Cammock  came  in  to  him  with  a  mess  of  cold 
poultice  for  his  head. 

"  We're  getting  under  way,  sir,"  he  said.  "  The 
Dagoes  are  blowing  the  spikes  out  of  their  guns. 
They'll  be  firing  soon.  We're  cutting  our  cable,  sir. 
We  haven't  strength  to  weigh.  Tucket  the  same.  Mrs. 
Stukeley  is  coming  to  you,  sir.  I  told  her  you  were 
hurt.  She  wants  you  not  to  get  up,  sir." 


360  CAPTAIN  MABGAEET 

He  then  went  away.     By  and  by  Olivia  entered. 

"Don't  get  up,  Charles,"  she  said.  "Oh.  Don't 
get  up." 

He  raised  himself  to  greet  her,  looking  at  her  sadly. 
She  came  up  to  him  and  took  his  hand,  and  sat  at  his 
side. 

"  Olivia,"  he  said  gently.  "  Olivia,  I  bring  another 
sorrow  for  you.  Your  husband  is  dead,  Olivia.  He 
died  this  morning." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  quietly.  "  I  knew  he  would  be 
dead." 

He  tried  to  read  her  thought ;  but  his  head  was  stupid 
with  pain;  he  could  not.  He  saw  only  the  calm,  pale 
face  with  that  quality  of  mystery  upon  it  which  is  upon 
all  beauty. 

"  I  feel  for  your  sorrow,"  he  stammered. 

"Yes,  Charles,"  she  answered.  "You  feel  for  my 
sorrow,  I  know." 

"  Olivia,"  he  said,  "  would  it  pain  you  too  much  to 
hear.  To  hear  about  it  ?  " 

"  You  ought  not  to  be  talking  with  your  wound, 
Charles." 

"  I  must  tell  you,  Olivia.  If  you  can  bear  it.  It 
may  be  harder  to-morrow." 

"  Tell  me  then,"  she  said.  "  If  you  feel.  If  you 
wish.  I  am  quite  calm,  Charles.  Tell  me  everything." 

"  He  died  of  yellow  fever,  Olivia.  In  the  Governor's 
house  there.  The  tall  house  above  the  bastion  there." 

"  I  can't  look,  Charles.  Don't  tell  me  where.  I'm. 
Yes?" 

"  He  was  .ill  for  four  days,"  Margaret  continued. 
"  They  thought  he  was  getting  better  yesterday." 

"  They,  Charles  ?     Who  were  '  they  '  ?  " 

"  The  Governor  and  a  priest,  Olivia." 


THE  END  361 

"  He  was  in  the  Governor's  house,"  she  said.  "  As  a 
friend  ? " 

"  A  secretary  there."  His  mouth  had  grown  very 
dry ;  it  was  hard  to  answer  these  questions. 

"  Then  he  stole  the  book  of  maps,  Charles  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Did  you  find  it?" 

"  Yes.     I  found  it." 

"  Was  there  fighting  ?  Fighting  in  the  town  ?  Was 
he  alone  when  he  died  ?  " 

"  He  died  before  the  fighting  began.  An  hour  or  two 
before." 

"  Who  was  with  him,  Charles  ?  " 

"  A  priest  was  with  him." 

"  A  Roman  Catholic  priest  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  found  the  priest  in  the  room  with  him. 
The  priest  had  attended  him.  At  the  end." 

"  He  had  become  a  Roman  Catholic  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Olivia." 

"  I  want  to  picture  it,  Charles.  Was  there  fighting 
in  the  town  when  you.  When  you  found  him  ?  " 

"  There  was  a  little  firing.  But  the  men  were  at 
breakfast.  I  heard  a  few  shots.  Distant  shots.  So. 
So  I  left  the  men.  And  West  and  I  made  a  grave.  We 
buried  him  there,  Olivia.  The  priest.  There  was  a 
service." 

"  And  then.     What  happened  then,  Charles  ?  " 

"  I  picked  these  rosebuds,  and  this  pebble,  Olivia. 
From  the  grave.  For  you." 

The  rosebuds  were  crushed  and  dropping.  She  took 
them  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand.  There  was  a  grace 
in  all  that  she  did.  The  holding  out  of  her  delicate 
palm  was  beautiful;  the  movement  showed  curiously 
her  exquisite  refinement;  it  was  as  though  she  had 


362  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

said  some  beautiful  thing ;  her  mind  showed  in  it.  She 
took  the  relics,  looking  not  at  them,  but  at  Charles, 
her  eyes  swimming  with  tears,  her  dear  mind  wild  with 
tears. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  on  a  sob.  "  You  planted  the 
roses,  Charles  ?  You  thought  of  it." 

He  did  not  answer.  He  turned  his  head,  to  look  out 
over  Tolu.  The  ship  was  moving  slowly,  heading  out 
over  the  gulf;  the  fiery  town  was  dwindling;  the  wake 
whirled  pale  bubbles  about  the  rudder. 

"  I  think  no  other  man  would  have  thought  of  it," 
she  said  quietly. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  sighing. 

"  Charles,"  she  said,  "  tell  me  now,  will  you.  That's 
over.  That  part.  What  happened  in  the  town  ?  " 

"  The  men  got  drunk,  Olivia,  and  set  the  town  on 
fire.  They  sacked  the  place.  When  I  came  back  to 
the  Plaza.  Oh,  I  can't.  I  can't." 

"  You  sent  off  the  wounded,  then,  did  you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  helped  them,  down  in  the  ward-room.  Oh,  poor 
fellows.  I  asked  them  about  the  battle.  I  think  I've. 
I  think,  Charles,  I've  come  very  near  to  the  world  in 
these  last  days.  They  told  me  a  little.  Then  I  heard 
firing.  We  were  busy  below,  with  a  sheet  over  the  ports 
to  keep  out  the  sun.  Some  of  them  are  dreadfully  hurt. 
I  couldn't  see  what  was  happening.  But  I  knew  you 
were  attacked.  Then  the  cannon  overhead  began.  The 
ship  shook.  Then  a  wounded  man  came  down.  He 
said  you  were  dead,  Charles.  It  was  like  the  end  of 
everything." 

"  It  was,  Olivia,"  he  said. 

"  I  know  now,  Charles,  what  war  is." 

"  You  didn't  see  that  water,"  he  answered.  "  Oh, 
not  that  water.  My  act  and  deed.  All  of  it.  All  of  it 


THE  END  363 

by  me.  And  there  was  a  girl  in  the  Plaza.  I'm  dis- 
graced. Oh,  I  shall  never.  It's  all  over.  All  over 
after  to-day." 

"No,  Charles.  Don't  say  that.  You.  At  Spring- 
er's Key.  You  can  begin  again  there.  With  better 
men." 

"  Springer's  Key  will  be  a  failure,  too,"  he  said  bit- 
terly. "  Oh,  Olivia,"  he  added,  going  o,ff  into  an  hyster- 
ical laugh,  "  that  water  gets  on  my  nerves.  There  were 
two  upset  boats,  and  they  can't  right  them." 

"  Charles,"  she  said,  frightened.  "  You're  hurt. 
You're  hit  again." 

"  I  think  my  old  wound  has  broken  out,"  he  said. 

"  Lie  down,"  she  answered,  rising  swiftly,  to  lay  the 
relics  on  the  table.  "  I'll  see  to  it  at  once.  Why  didn't 
I  think?" 

"I'll  get  Perrin,"  he  said.  "Don't  you.  You 
mustn't.  Oh,  Olivia,  you've  enough  without  me." 

She  ripped  the  coat  of  soiled  linen  with  the  scissors 
in  her  chatelaine.  The  old  negro,  coming  in  with  choco- 
late, brought  hot  water  for  her.  Together  they  dressed 
the  wound  with  balsam  and  pitoma  leaf,  binding  it  with 
Indian  cotton.  The  steward  brought  in  fruit  and  bread. 
They  ate  and  drank  together,  mechanically,  not  as 
though  they  wanted  food. 

"  Olivia,"  Margaret  said,  "  you  are  in  great  sorrow. 
Some  of  it,  Olivia,  perhaps  all  of  it,  is  due  to  me.  I 
want  you.  I  want  you  to  feel  that  I  feel  for  you.  Feel 
deeply.  Oh,  my  God.  I'm  sorry  for  you.  You  poor 
woman." 

"  Charles,"  she  said,  "  you  mustn't  think.  You've 
no  right.  You  mustn't  think  that.  That  what  has  hap- 
pened was  due  to  you.  Don't,  Charles.  You  won't,  I 
know.  I  see  too  clearly  what  happened.  I  see  your 
mind,  Charles,  all  along.  I  understand."  She  knelt 


364  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

very  swiftly  and  kissed  his  hand.  "  There,"  she  said, 
very  white.  "  I  understand." 

Margaret  closed  his  eyes,  then  looked  at  a  gleam  of 
flame  far  distant,  and  at  the  blue  band  on  the  bows  of 
Tucket's  sloop,  plunging  the  sea  into  milk  within  hail 
of  him. 

"  You  were  right,  Olivia,"  he  said,  in  a  shaking  voice. 
"  I  shall  never  reap  my  plantations  yonder." 

"  No,"  she  answered.     "  Nor  I." ' 

There  was  silence  between  them  for  a  little  while. 

"  Charles,"  she  added,  "  we  both  had  Darien 
schemes." 

"  Yes,  Olivia." 

"  They  came  to  nothing.  Because.  There.  We 
were  too  wild  to  see  what,  what  we  were  building  with." 

"  Yes,  Olivia.  And  you  reap  sorrow.  And  I  dis- 
honour." 

"  Not  that,  Charles.     We  reap  the  world." 

"  Ah  no,  Olivia.  This  is  the  end  of  everything.  For 
me  it  is." 

"  No,  Charles,"  she  said.  "  We  were  living  in  one 
little  corner  of  our  hearts,  you  and  I.  In  fool's  para- 
dises. We  were  prisoners.  This  is  not  the  end.  We 
only  begin  here." 

He  sighed,  thinking  of  the  shame  of  the  morning's 
work  in  Tolu.  "  My  father's  sword,"  he  thought.  "  In 
that  cause." 

"  Charles,"  she  asked,  "  haven't  you.  Something 
more  to  tell  me  ?  " 

He  thought  for  a  moment,  dully,  wondering  in  his 
blurred  brain  if  she  wished  to  hear  more  of  the  battle. 

"  No,"  he  said.     "  No.     That  is  the  end." 

She  stood  up,  facing  him,  her  great  eyes  looking  down 
on  him. 

"  I  must  go  now  to  the  wounded,"  she  said  softly. 


THE  END  365 

"  Edward  and  the  doctor  will  be  wanting  me.  God 
bless  you,  Charles." 

"  God  bless  you,  Olivia.     And  comfort  you." 

Before  she  left  the  cabin  she  turned  and  spoke  again. 

"  He  was  married,  Charles,"  she  said.  "  You  never 
told  me  that." 

"  Yes,  Olivia,  he  was  married." 

"  I  knew  that,  Charles.  I  saw  him  so  clearly.  With 
a  woman  with  a  cruel  face.  Oh,  I  knew  it.  It  was 
generous  of  you  not  to  tell  me.  But  I  knew  all  the 
time." 

Late  that  night,  in  the  darkened  cabin,  Olivia  leaned 
upon  the  port-sill,  looking  out  over  the  rudder  eddies, 
as  they  spun  away  in  fire  rings,  brightening  and  dying. 
She  propped  the  cushions  at  her  back,  so  that  she  might 
rest  her  head.  The  nightmare  of  the  past  was  ashes  to 
her.  That  evil  fire  had  burned  out,  as  Tolu  had  burned 
out.  The  past  and  Tolu  lay  smouldering  together  some- 
where, beyond  Euerte  there,  beyond  the  Mestizos.  The 
embers  lay  red  there,  crusted  in  ash. 

She  had  come  to  see  clearly  in  the  pain  of  her  sorrow. 
She  saw  her  life  laid  bare  and  judged.  She  saw  the 
moral  values  of  things.  Great  emotions  are  our  high 
tides.  They  brim  our  natures,  as  a  tide  brims  the  flood- 
marks,  bringing  strangeness  out  of  the  sea,  wild  birds 
and  amber.  She  had  relics  in  her  hand ;  rosebuds  and 
a  pebble,  "  feathers  and  dust."  The  rosebuds  had 
spilled  their  petals.  She  looked  at  them  there,  turning 
them  over  with  her  fingers,  holding  them  to  the  open  port 
to  see  them.  There  was  no  moon;  but  the  great  stars 
gave  the  night  a  kind  of  glimmering  clearness.  The  sea 
heaved  silvery  with  star-tracks.  Fish  broke  the  water 
to  flame.  The  scutter  of  a  settling  sea-bird  made  a  path 
of  bright  scales  a  few  yards  from  her.  She  laid  the 
relics  on  the  port-sill,  near  the  open  window.  Very 


366  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

gently  she  pushed  the  pebble  into  the  water,  leaning  for- 
ward to  see  the  gleam  of  its  fall.  One  by  one  she  pushed 
the  rosebuds  over,  till  they  were  all  gone  too.  She 
watched  the  petals  float  away  into  the  wake,  chased  by 
the  sea-birds.  They  were  out  of  sight  in  a  moment, 
but  the  gulls  mewed  as  they  quarrelled  over  them,  voices 
in  the  darkness,  crying  in  the  air  aloft.  Olivia  leaned 
there,  looking  after  them,  for  many  minutes.  Then  she 
drew  close  the  window  and  covered  her  eyes  with  her 
hands. 

It  took  them  five  days  to  win  back  to  the  Samballoes. 
They  entered  Springer's  Drive  a  little  before  noon, 
eagerly  looking  out  towards  the  anchorage.  No  ships 
lay  there,  no  guns  greeted  them  from  the  fort.  Mar- 
garet and  Cammock,  walking  the  poop  together,  knew 
that  Pain  had  been  before  them.  A  thin  expanse  of 
smoke  wavered  and  drifted  in  films  among  the  trees. 
When  it  drove  down  into  the  palms,  after  rising  above 
their  level,  it  scattered  the  macaws,  making  them  cry 
out.  The  flagstaff  lay  prone,  like  a  painted  finger, 
pointing  down  the  spit  to  the  sea.  Tucket's  sloop  was 
fifty  yards  ahead  of  the  ship,  plunging  in  a  smother. 
There  was  a  cockling  sea  that  morning,  the  reefs  were 
running  white,  they  gleamed  milky  for  fifty  yards  about 
them.  There  was  no  other  sign  of  life  about  the  island. 
The  smoke  was  so  thin  that  it  was  like  mist.  The  beach, 
which  had  so  lately  been  thronged,  was  busy  now  with 
crabs,  which  scuttled  and  sidled,  tearing  at  the  man- 
chineel  trees.  A  wounded  man  limped  down  the  sand 
and  waved  to  them.  Margaret,  going  in  in  his  boat,  saw 
that  it  was  the  seaman  West. 

"  I  been  here  two  days,  sir,"  he  said,  "  waiting  for 
you.  I  been  living  on  sapadillies.  There  been  awful 
times,  sir." 

"  What  has  happened,  man  ?  " 


THE  END  367 

"  I  came  from  the  town,  Tolu  town,  in  one  of  the 
sloops,  sir,"  the  man  answered.  "  The  Lively,  as  they 
called  her.  When  we  come  here,  Captain  Pain  got  all 
the  men  you  left,  all  the  guard  like,  to  sign  on  with  him. 
Then  he  set  the  town  on  fire,  and  scoffed  all  your  gear, 
the  guns  and  powder  and  that.  So  I  got  away  and 
hid  in  the  wood.  I  was  afraid  they  want  me  to  join 
'em,  or  put  a  knife  into  me.  Then  I  saw  'em  flog  that 
Don  Toro,  and  two  other  Indians.  He  flog  'em  on  the 
beach,  and  sent  'em  back  to  the  Main,  sir.  He  said 
that  would  put  all  them  Indians  off  giving  you  a  hand 
in  the  future." 

"  What  a  devil  the  man  must  be,"  Margaret  said. 

"  So  I  stayed  hidden,  sir,  ever  since,  hoping  no  In- 
dians would  come  over  and  find  me." 

"  So  that's  the  end,"  said  Margaret  to  himself.  He 
would  not  go  ashore  there.  He  could  see  the  ruins  of 
his  city,  a  mass  of  fallen  earth,  a  heap  of  ashes,  a  sprout- 
ing crop  blasted.  He  would  never  set  foot  there  again. 
That  dream  had  ended  like  the  other,  in  savagery,  in 
waste,  in  cruelty.  He  would  let  it  end.  The  fallen 
gabions  of  the  fort  would  soon  be  tangled  with  grasses. 
In  three  months  there  would  be  shrubs  on  the  city  site. 
The  key  would  be  jungle  again,  the  Indians  would  be 
savage  again,  the  privateers  would  be  plundering  vaga- 
bonds again.  The  dream  was  over.  All  that  he  could 
do  now  was  to  proceed  to  Jamaica,  to  sell  his  goods 
there,  before  sailing  for  England,  a  beaten  man,  threat- 
ened by  the  law. 

Tucket's  men  helped  his  crew  to  fill  fresh  water. 
Tucket  offered  to  take  seven  of  the  slightly  wounded 
men  in  his  ship  in  exchange  for  five  unhurt  men  from 
his  own  crew.  As  the  men  were  willing  to  exchange, 
this  brought  the  Broken  Heart's  complement  to  twenty 
men;  enough,  at  a  strain,  for  the  passage  to  Jamaica, 


368  CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

if  no  enemy  threatened  and  no  storm  arose.  When 
the  water  had  been  filled,  and  the  manger  stacked  with 
wood,  the  men  gathered  stores  of  fruit.  They  were 
ready  to  sail  then.  Margaret  gave  the  Indian  Robin 
enough  goods  to  make  him  a  chief  in  his  own  land.  He 
made  gifts  to  all  of  Tucket's  crew.  To  Tucket  himself 
he  gave  a  pair  of  pistols,  choice  weapons,  made  by  the 
best  artist  in  Paris.  Tucket  asked  for  his  address,  in 
writing. 

"  I  shall  come  and  look  you  up,  one  day,"  he  said,  as 
he  put  the  paper  in  his  pocket.  "  I  shall  be  coming 
home  to  set  up  dyer.  We'll  have  a  great  yarn,  that 
day." 

"  I  shall  expect  you,"  Margaret  said.  "  You  shall 
dye  for  me.  But  won't  you  come  home  now,  captain  ? 
With  me?" 

"  IsTo,  sir,"  he  answered.  "  I  want  to  get  that  green 
the  Indians  get.  Then  I'll  come  home." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  Margaret  said.  "  Good-bye,  then,  Cap- 
tain Tucket.  I  wonder  if  we  shall  ever  meet  again." 

"  Well.  We  met.  Haven't  we  ?  We  neither  of  us 
expected  to." 

"  Good-bye,  then.  Let  me  hear  from  you,  if  a  ship 
is  going  home  from  here  ?  " 

t(  I  will,  indeed,  sir.     So  long.     So  long,  Lion." 

"  So  long,"  said  Cammock. 

They  were  under  way  again,  close-hauled  to  the 
breeze,  going  out  of  Springer's  Drive  to  the  east  of 
Caobos.  All  the  Holandes  keys  were  roaring  with  surf. 
The  palms  were  bending.  The  smoke  from  the  key 
astern  trailed  in  a  faint  streamer  towards  the  Grullos. 
That  was  the  last  picture  which  Margaret  formed  of 
the  keys.  The  sun  bright,  the  palms  lashing,  the  noise 
of  the  surf  like  a  battle,  the  welter  of  the  surf  like  milk 


THE  END  369 

on  the  reefs.  Tucket  was  in  his  sloop  now,  with  all 
hands  gathered  on  deck,  their  faces  turned  to  him.  The 
men  of  the  Broken  Heart  were  gathered  at  the  hammock 
nettings.  Margaret  thought  of  the  sadness  of  parting. 
Two  men  had  shaken  hands  only  a  moment  before. 
Now  there  was  this  gulf  of  sea  between  them.  To- 
morrow they  would  be  many  miles  apart ;  and  who  knew 
whether  they  would  ever  meet  again,  for  all  their  wan- 
dering. 

The  bells  of  the  ships  rang  out  together,  a  furious  peal. 
Cammock,  standing  on  a  gun,  took  off  his  hat,  and  called 
for  three  cheers  for  the  sloop.  The  sloop's  men  cheered 
the  ship.  The  men  of  the  Broken  Heart  answered  with 
a  single  cheer.  The  bells  rang  out  again,  the  colours 
dipped,  the  guns  thundered,  startling  the  pelicans. 
Tucket  had  turned  away  now,  to  help  to  secure  his  guns. 
His  helmsman  let  the  sloop  go  off  three  points.  She 
was  slipping  fast  away  now,  bound  towards  Zambo- 
Gandi.  Now  the  figures  of  the  men  could  no  longer  be 
recognized.  She  was  hidden  behind  the  palms  of 
Puyadas.  Tucket  was  gone.  Margaret  never  saw  him 
again. 

"  That  breaks  the  neck  of  that,"  said  Cammock. 
"  All  gone,  main-topgallant  yard  ?  " 

"  All  gone,  main-topgallant  yard,  sir." 

"  Then  hoist  away." 

Under  all  sail  the  Broken  Heart  swayed  seawards, 
treading  down  the  rollers,  creaming  a  track  across  the 
sea,  dark  now  in  its  blueness,  with  crinkling  wind- 
ruffles.  When  the  night  fell,  shutting  out  the  Main, 
and  the  stars  climbed  out,  solemn  and  golden,  she  was 
in  the  strength  of  the  trade,  rolling  to  the  northward, 
circled  by  the  gleams  of  dolphins,  hurrying  in  sudden 
fires. 


370  CAPTAIN  MAEGARET 

After  dark  that  night  Margaret  sat  on  the  locker- 
top,  looking  at  the  wake,  as  it  shone  below  him  about 
the  rudder.  He  was  thinking  over  his  manifold  failure, 
feeling  disgraced  and  stained,  a  defeated,  broken  man. 
Olivia  entered  quietly  from  the  alleyway.  He  only  felt 
her  enter.  There  was  no  light  in  the  cabin.  The  stew- 
ard was  busy  with  the  wounded. 

"  Is  that  you,  Olivia  ?  "  he  asked,  knowing  that  it  was 
she.  He  felt  in  his  heart  the  gladness  which  her  pres- 
ence always  gave  to  him.  Life  could  always  be  noble, 
he  thought,  with  that  beautiful  woman  in  the  world. 

"  Yes,  Charles,"  she  answered.  "  I've  been  with  the 
wounded.  They're  better.  How  are  your  wounds  ?  " 

"Better,  thanks.     They're  always  better  at  night." 

She  drew  up  a  chair  and  sat  down  beside  him. 

fl  Charles,"  she  said,  "  I  want  you  not  to  brood.  Not 
to  grieve.  That's  all  over,  Charles." 

"  Not  the  dishonour,"  he  said.  "  That  will  never  be 
over." 

"  There  is  no  dishonour,  Charles.  You  failed.  The 
only  glory  is  failure.  All  artists  fail.  But  one  sees 
what  they  saw.  You  see  that  in  their  failure." 

"  Ah.     Sometimes." 

"  I  see  that  in  yours,  Charles." 

"  Thank  you,  Olivia," 

"  I  shall  always  see  that,  Charles,  when  I  see  you." 

"  My  city." 

"  Yes.     Your  city,  Charles." 

"  It  was  for  you,  Olivia.     My  city." 

"  I  am  proud,"  she  said  humbly. 

"  It  failed,  Olivia.     It's  in  ruins.     Yonder." 

"  Charles,"  she  said,  kneeling,  taking  both  his  hands, 
hiding  her  face  against  him,  "  it  is  in  my  heart.  That 
city.  Our  city." 


THE  END  3Y1 

She  trembled  against  him,  drawing  her  breath.  He 
held  her  with  his  unhurt  arm,  waiting  till  the  dear  face 
would  lift,  pale  in  that  darkness,  to  the  laying  of  the 
gold  foundation. 


THE   END 


PRINTED    IN    THE    UNITED    STATES   OF   AMERICA 


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